In These Arms
by thewickednix
Summary: Learning to live again after the war is hard. But as he begins to play a strange game with a certain old nemesis of his, Draco Malfoy comes to realise that life is far more terrifying and more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.
1. Come All Ye Faithful

**Title: **In These Arms  
**Author: **thewickednix  
**Primary Pairing: **Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter  
**Rating:** Adult (NC-17)  
**Categories: **Slash, Post-war, DH compliant, EWE**  
Warnings: **Dark, Angst, Adult Language, Substance Abuse, Infidelity  
**Word Count: **29 000  
**Chapters:** 9

**Summary: **_Learning to live again after the war is hard. Draco Malfoy holds on to the past while he is trying to accommodate to his new position in society. But as he begins to play a strange game with a certain old nemesis of his, Draco comes to realise that life is far more terrifying and more beautiful than he could have ever imagined._

**Author's Notes: **For the 2010 Draco Big Bang. Written as a one-shot, but because of its excessive length I split it up into 9 parts. Betaed by the lovely melusinahp.

_DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

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* * *

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**Chapter 1. Come All Ye Faithful, Joyful and Triumphant**

"God, this place is going to the dogs."

Draco Malfoy scoffed as he took in the _'Welcome witch, wizard, Muggleborn and elf!_' Muggle banners that were strung across the Hogwarts entrance arch. Draco hadn't been back at Hogwarts for even as long as it took for Trelawney to predict St. Potter's death, and yet he was already tired of the charade. Seventh year was such a bloody waste of time.

_"Finish your studies," _Mother had said.

Draco snorted and brushed a hand down the leg of his robes. The War had winnowed the opportunities for his generation of Slytherins into irrelevance and completely closed off all chances of promotion and glory. Their entire adult lives had been shuffled into sinecures that removed any possibility of impact on Wizarding policy for at least the length of Draco's life. Humility, or the appearance of it, did not change the fact that the probability of Draco getting an even remotely respectable job anywhere in England was undeniably faint. The Ministry would sooner appoint a cave troll minister than accept a Malfoy into its ranks.

However, short of death, no Malfoy in the entire History of Hogwarts had ever failed to complete the regimen, and Draco had no intention of breaking that particular tradition. It was a matter of pride, and after the unfortunate outcome of the War, pride was one of the only things the Malfoys had left.

Draco paused at the bottom of the stairs to Hogwart's entrance, taking a deep breath. Ascending the stairs slowly, he glared at the cane in his hand. Dratted thing.

The walk to the Slytherin dorm took a lot longer than it used to.

* * *

The Slytherin common room was exactly how Draco remembered it. He let out a breath of relief as he surveyed the empty room. If nothing else, at least this part of his life had remained unchanged.

He was the first of the Slytherin seventh years to arrive. Or the additional seventh years, so to speak. The seventh years from last year who had dropped out of school for one reason or the other. To take part in the war, or run from it.

Draco slumped down onto a couch, leaning his head back and staring up at the stone ceiling without really seeing it. He saw no point in going to the Great Hall, even though he knew that McGonagall wouldn't have called the additional seventh years here a day early if she didn't have something special planned. For the time being, Draco wanted rather to stay blissfully ignorant of the near future.

For at least another moment, Draco could pretend that his life was almost as it used to be.

Set in deep thought, Draco took in what might very well be his last time in the Slytherin dorm. Although he would never admit it out loud, Hogwarts had shaped him almost as much as his parents had, and his history was tied to the castle like it was to no other place. During his absence he had truly missed Hogwarts. It was within these walls that he had grown up into the person he was. Here he had made his friends and allies as well as life-time enemies, it was here that he had laid down firmly entrenched behavioural patterns as he intimidated other houses and established himself as a person to be reckoned with. Hogwarts was an undeniable part of him.

Not that it would be the same this year, Draco thought, setting his lips in thin line. With the defeat of the Dark Lord, bias against Slytherins was at a fever pitch. With Dumbledore gone and McGonagall given free reign, Merlin only knew what would happen. Even Severus was lost as a mitigating force.

Draco rubbed his leg absentmindedly as he looked around the common room. The familiar stone walls, draped with Slytherin green. The dim light from the torches. The cool draft that would have every new student coughing and snivelling for a week before they got used to it. He let a small smile pass across his face. Sometimes he thought this was the only place where he still had faith in magic.

He stilled abruptly before letting out a bitter snort. He knew how ridiculous he sounded. These days he had an unbecoming tendency to lapse into nostalgia and depression if he didn't make an effort to stay focused. It was rather pathetic, actually. And it was ironic to have those kind of thoughts about "faith in magic," because if there was one lesson the defeat of the Dark Lord had hammered home to wizards, it was that wizards endowed far too much trust in their precious spells.

But like many others, Draco had been stubbornly determined to stay in denial about that fact, even as his whole future veered off course with the defeat of the Dark Lord. It was only when he was at St. Mungo's and the mediwizards fought to save his leg, that Draco finally learned that valuable lesson.

_"The trauma is in the nerve system. The tendons are far too complex to mend properly," _the healer had told Draco and his mother. And the healer had tried to look very apologetic, but Draco could see the sense of righteousness behind the professional condolence. No one in their right mind felt sympathy for a crippled Death Eater.

As if reminded of its own existence, Draco's leg twitched painfully. He bit back a groan and clenched his teeth, hoping to ease the pain by moving to sit in another position.

The war had been over for three months. Wounds had long since been healed, and the dead had been buried. The scars that remained were quickly swept under the carpet. The blood and grime had all been washed away, only to pave way for a silence that was all the more terrifying. They called this hollow echo of life 'peace'.

Draco couldn't stand it. Restoration of the purer Wizarding world was all he had been brought up for. He had tasted the war approaching his entire life. Now that it was over, how was he supposed to know how to live in this new world where purebreds were powerless and Mudblood customs were eradicating everything he had been brought up to believe in? What was left of his life in a society where his family was powerless and spat upon?

Sometimes Draco felt as if his head was at war with itself. Everything he had learned at his father's knee and everything he had always defined himself to be, was contradicting all of Dumbledore's rules regarding proper behaviour he had to abide by while he was at Hogwarts. And now those rules had extended well beyond the borders of the school, making peace and supposed equality the foremost agenda of every half-decent witch and wizard in Britain.

In preparation for the trials for his mother, his father, and himself, Draco had endured countless mock trials run by his father and mother. Draco's rage at his family's position had been shaped into a carefully neutral expression. His temper has been dampened by his mother's pointed remarks regarding gratitude (to Potter of all people!), acceptance, patience, and decorum. The anxiety of awaiting his family's fate had in time laid a dull patina of acquiescence over Draco.

The ironic thing was that in the end, when the trials were finally over, peace had changed nothing. The truce had made absolutely no difference. It did not matter who had been judged not guilty, no one cared whose crimes have been "forgiven". It didn't matter what the court said, because the winning side would never forgive.

Now all that the 'evil' wizards, the traitors, the scum of society could do was try to make their own absolution. And try to avoid getting cut down by a purposefully aimed hex.

Draco's face settled into carefully a blank expression as his thoughts ran the well trod paths through his head.

"Draco?"

Draco looked up to find Goyle standing in the doorway, staring at him warily. Somewhere in the back of his mind Draco felt the uncomfortable tinge of guilt make itself known. Goyle came to see him every day as he lay in hospital. And in his hopelessness, Draco knew himself to have treated his friend like crap.

Still, Draco was forced to admit to himself that guilt and remorse were not his strongest suit. All he could do now was to try and make up for some of his offences by offering Goyle a forced smile. "Hello, Greg. When did you arrive?"

Goyle seemed to ease up, if only a little. "Just now," he murmured, moving his rather impressive weight from one foot to the other, as if uncertain of what to do with himself. "I saw Professor McGonagall in the corridor. She said I should tell everyone in our common room to come to the Great Hall."

_Bollocks. Now I'll have to limp all the way back there again! _Draco thought to himself, certain that McGonagall was only doing it to piss him off. "Thanks Greg," he forced himself to utter, nodding approvingly at his friend. Bracing himself to get up from his seat, Draco fought back the groan that threatened to escape him as his leg protested to the movement. His irritation grew worse as he looked over and saw Goyle fidgeting in the doorway, casting poorly disguised disquieted glimpses at Draco's bad leg. Draco suddenly lost all sense of guilt or remorse, turning to sneered at Goyle.

"Stop that nervous chicken dance, it's making me crazy," he muttered as he limped past the other boy. Goyle stood absolutely still for a moment, holding his breath, before hurrying after Draco in fear of being left behind.

"Yes, Draco," Goyle answered, in a manner that disturbingly enough sounded almost happy. And just like that, Draco found that their lives had been set back in their usual pattern. Though his walking was a tad slower. Though they had lost Vince.

* * *

As Draco entered the Great Hall, most of the additional seventh years had already taken their seats at their respective tables. It was a sad gathering of five Ravenclaws, six Hufflepuffs, four Slytherins and eight Gryffindors. Including the Golden Trio.

Upon hearing the door open, everyone turned to look at the newcomers. Draco suddenly felt very glad to have Greg by his side, even if only as a meagre moral support. With his head raised high, Draco moved towards the Slytherin table as gracefully as he could. The ten yards seemed like a mile with the sound of his cane beating rhythmically against the stone floor and ringing like gun shots through the silence.

It was only when Draco finally reached the Slytherin table and took a seat that everyone started speaking again. Ignoring the hateful comments he overheard from the other houses, Draco turned to his own, masking his growing dread as well as he could. He feared this confrontation far more than he feared the spite of the other students. With a steady gaze, Draco looked into the curious faces of Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis.

"Are we the only ones?" Draco asked in a steady voice, looking each of them in the eye in turn, silently daring them to take up the subject of his condition.

The reaction was immediate. Blaise hurriedly proceeded to inform Draco of the whereabouts of every student that had abstained from returning to the school, while Pansy and Daphne begun a duet of "We haven't heard of you all summer. We were so worried you weren't going to show up!"

Goyle took a seat on the opposite side of the table beside Pansy, and smiled encouragingly at Draco. For a second Draco despised him for the pity he dared to show, but the emotion soon died out as he allowed himself to feel relief for the first time that day; it seemed that he still had the authority there. It was highly reassuring, as Draco had feared he would become the outcast after all that had happened.

Naturally, they still had questions; Draco could see all of them, even Goyle, eyeing his cane curiously. Just like every other student in the Great Hall, they all desperately wanted to know what had happened.

Blaise was the first to gain the courage to ask. He leaned closer, his lips only inches from Draco's ear as he whispered: "Draco, what-?" He left the question hanging in the air, nodding pointedly towards Draco's right leg, as if anyone could have any doubt about what he was referring to. Everyone else fell silent immediately, sneaking cautious glances at Draco as they tried to pretend that they weren't holding their breath for his answer. Draco let a stern frown form on his lips, a cocked eyebrow the only answer to Blaise's cheeky smile. "Later."

Blaise was smart enough not to push it, and the others followed his example. They were Slytherins, they all knew better than to draw attention to the matter in front of the other students. Especially in front of students like Potter and his followers.

* * *

"Merlin, look at that prick! Still walking in here like he owns the place. After all he's done!"

Harry wasn't sure he could quite agree with Ron. Silently he watched Malfoy, studying his pale face as he limped towards the Slytherin table. Even though he looked unmoved -didn't Malfoy always?- his hand was frantically gripping the black cane, white fingers curling tightly around the wood. Harry stared at him, feeling almost sympathetic.

_Almost._

Of course Malfoy was an outright bastard. He had always been, there was no question about it. But if the war had shown Harry Potter anything about the Malfoys, it was that they would do anything for their family. And even if the manners in which they had chosen to protect their loved ones was far from admirable, Harry knew that devotion like that was rarely seen, especially in times of war.

His thoughts were abruptly cut off as Professor McGonagall entered the room. "Attention, everyone," she called out, her voice demanding attention almost as well as Dumbledore's had. "Welcome, additional seventh years, to your, _hopefully_, last year at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Because of the unusual circumstances last year, some of the seventh years' studies were compromised. Hence, we are now giving you the opportunity to finish your studies during an eighth year at Hogwarts."

McGonagall paused for a minute, looking around at the students. "Unfortunately, there is no room for you in your usual dorms. Additionally, as most of you have only a few specific subjects and courses to finish, we cannot have you all running around like wild geese and disrupting the other students' studies." The Headmistress looked grimly at those she knew would be amongst these 'wild geese', Lavender Brown, Neville, and the Greengrass-girl from Slytherin.

"So," she continued, coming to the point they were all waiting for. "the teachers have decided that the twenty-five of you will share quarters."

Gasps echoed through the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall sighed, irritated by the melodrama. "We have established a dormitory for the boys and one for the girls, joined by a common room. Those of you who do not need to re-take the whole year, will only attend those classes that you need. Any questions?"

For a minute the whole Hall was silent, then hands started rising. "Yes?" the Headmistress asked, nodding at Dean Thomas.

"Uhm, I was just wondering..." Dean mumbled, looking warily at the students at the other tables. "Will we still be in our houses, or will there be a different house for the eighth years?" Other students nodded and a few lowered their raised hands. It seemed many had been wondering about the same issue.

"You will remain in your original house, and you will still take your meals as normal at the house tables," was the answer, which was a relief for all. Harry watched as every student in the room released their held breath. Professor McGonagall continued. "Those of you who were Prefects during previous years no longer hold that position, but as you are all adults and here of your own free will, you are no longer beholden to rules and curfews."

"Wicked!" Ron exclaimed, gaining a murderous look from McGonagall. The Professor took a deep breath before she continued:

"That does _not_ mean that you may behave any way you like. It is merely an expression of the fact that the school recognises you are all adults now, and as such we expect you to able to be responsible for yourselves and your own education. If you take advantage of that, we will not hesitate to expel you. Does anyone have any more questions?"

As the silence drew out, the Headmistress seemed very pleased to finish. "Good. Now, I will lead you to your dormitories. Follow me." She stalked through the Hall and out through the doors, followed by a herd of students slightly afraid of their fate.

"All of us, sharing a dorm? Is the woman insane?" Ron hissed to Harry and Hermione as they exited the Great Hall. Harry was just about to express his agreement when he looked past his shoulder and saw Malfoy limping after them, trying to keep up with everyone else. Of course all the Slytherins stayed behind to support him, but it was easy to see who was the actual hold-up.

Harry looked over to see if McGonagall would notice Malfoy's problem, but she either didn't pay enough attention or she didn't care about the Slytherins. Like anyone would have blame her for that.

The Headmistress led the group to the fourth floor, past the Hospital wing and into a long corridor. At the end of that hallway there was a wall, adorned with a single portrait. Here McGonagall stopped.

"This is Angéle de la Barthe. She is guarding the eighth years' common room and dormitory," McGonagall said, gesturing towards the blond woman in the painting. The young woman blushed furiously under the gazes of the curious students, looking almost frightened. McGonagall was completely unmoved. "The current password is _Contraho_." The students all watched the woman smile shyly, before the painting turned to reveal a passage.

As the students followed McGonagall through the doorway, a common room in purple shades was revealed to them. The room was circular with a fireplace by one wall, and two sets of stairs by the other. Harry was more than pleased to find that it looked much like the Gryffindor common room he had grown so familiar with. It made him feel a little less anxious about the whole ordeal.

"This is your common room. The stairs to the right lead to the boys' dormitory, and the stairs to the left lead to the girls'," the Headmistress informed them, gesturing demonstratively as she spoke. As she noticed the mixed curiosity and unease around her, she raised an eyebrow and crossed the room back towards the door. "You may now make yourselves at home in your new quarters. Dinner and tomorrow's breakfast will be served in the Great Hall, and tomorrow evening the Welcoming Feast will take place as usual." McGonagall made a move to exit through the portrait, but cast a last dissuading glance at the students. "I expect you all to be on your best behaviour and control your tempers; I do not wish to hear of any fights."

The Headmistress exited, and a deafening silence filled the room. Everyone looked at their friends for support, quietly wondering how the hell this had happened. How could the teachers ever have conceived of the idea of mixing the houses?

Harry looked over at Ron, whose face had already turned red. Harry thought he could almost imagine the smoke emerging from his ears.

Harry sighed. This would not end well.

Hermione scoffed, strongly reminding Harry of McGonagall as she expressed her irritation at all the fuss. As the silence drew out for another minute, Hermione muttered an, "Oh, honestly!" and turned towards Hannah Abbott. "Come on, Hannah. Let's go pick out our beds."

Little Hannah smiled softly and followed Hermione up the stairs, leaving the other girls to look at each other in bewilderment before they too decided to follow. Harry's anxiety only grew as he watched Hermione and the other girls leave. The built up tension and testosterone in the room did not bode well for the keeping of the peace.

"Well, we might as well go make sure they've brought our luggage here as usual."

Harry heard a cold voice speak from behind him, and he didn't have to turn around to recognise its owner. Ron's eyes flickered hatefully towards the Slytherins, who had all gathered together in a group in front of the fire place. The Slytherin girls, Pansy Parkinson, Greengrass, and a thin blond girl Harry didn't know were the only ones who didn't follow the other girls upstairs. But now, at Malfoy's indirect command, they nodded curtly at the boys and took their leave. Harry watched Malfoy as he proceeded towards the stairs, both Zabini and Goyle beside him. Malfoy kept his eyes solemnly focused on something in the distance, determined not to make eye contact with anyone as he limped past the other students. His cane thumped clumsily against the stone floor, and Harry watched him with a mixture of empathy and persistent loathing, wondering if he felt the pressure of everyone's eyes on him. It was only when he saw Malfoy's back disappear at the top of the stairs that Harry looked around to find the other guys staring at him.

"What?" Harry asked, for some reason self-conscious.

Justin Finch-Fletchley cleared his throat. "What should we do?" he asked, voicing the question Harry saw clearly on everyone's faces.

Harry furrowed his brow. "About what?"

Zacharias Smith let out an annoyed huff. "About the Slytherins, of course!"

"We can't share a dorm with them for a whole year!" the dark haired Michael Corner proceeded, and the others hurried to nod in agreement.

"What do you expect me to do about it?" Harry scoffed, eyeing the others uncertainly. They seemed to somewhat come to their senses, sulking and looking down at the floor. Ron couldn't seem to let it go as easily as the others.

"But Harry," he began, staring at Harry desperately. "We can't sleep in the same room as them. They're Death Eaters!" He shouted and gesticulated wildly, staring at Harry with big blue eyes and face almost as red as his hair. Harry fought back a sigh.

"_I _can't do anything about it. Besides, they haven't even done anything. Shouldn't we try and get along before we attack them?"

"Get along?" Ron exclaimed, his eyes starting to resemble saucers. "They're Slytherins!"

Harry was just about to retort when a harsh drawl was heard from behind him.

"Sharing a dorm has nothing to do with anything, Weasley. If we wanted to kill you, it wouldn't matter if we were on the other side of the Earth." Zabini had appeared in the stairway, sneering. Harry could almost feel the suppressed rage overflowing in the room. No matter how many times the word peace had been repeated in the last months, no matter how many times they had spoken of truce, the meaning of it still hadn't reached the people. The other houses relationship with the Slytherins was, if possible, worse than ever.

"What are you doing here, Zabini?" Ron growled, marching over to the stairs. "Why did you even bother to come back? It's not like you'll get a job even if you finish school. No one will hire a Death Eater!"

The noise was now enough to lure the girls down from their dormitory. Parkinson and Greengrass were the first to appear, followed swiftly by Hermione and the small blond Slytherin whose name Harry still wasn't able to recall. Neither Ron nor Zabini seemed to take notice.

"We all know why _you_ came back, right, Weasley?" Zabini spat. "You _have_ to get a job, don't you, so that perhaps your family won't starve to death next winter?" He leered. "Shouldn't your friendship with Potter be worth enough to cash in on so that you might expand your house into more than one room? Or perhaps—"

"Blaise. Enough."

Malfoy's cold voice cut through the room. Zabini jumped where he stood, turning around to find Malfoy standing behind him at the top of the stairs. Goyle looked over Malfoy's shoulder, as if uncertain if he should get involved or not.

Slowly Malfoy descended the steps, one at the time, until he reached the common room floor. "You shouldn't set such a bad example, Blaise," Malfoy stated calmly, limping through the crowd of spectators. He reached an armchair in front of the fire place and sat down, stretching out his bad leg in front of him. His eyes fixed sombrely on Zabini. "With such bad habits, one could think you to be less than a pureblood."

Zabini refrained from answering, but he gritted his teeth so loudly Harry could hear it. Silently Zabini approached Malfoy and took a seat in another chair. "I apologize."

At the same time Parkinson, Greengrass and the blond girl walked over, also taking their seats. Harry watched in awe as the four of them sat there silently, awaiting a call, any kind of command from Malfoy. But Malfoy ignored them completely, his eyes searching through the group of students before they finally focused on Harry. The weight of Malfoy's gaze was like lead, and Harry felt an electric pulse travel through his body as those gunmetal eyes pierced him.

"Potter," Malfoy stated his name, for the first time, Harry thought, without malice in his voice. "Why are you still standing here?" Malfoy said, gesturing to the four Slytherins beside him and to Goyle, still standing on the stairs. "Without us in the dormitory, shouldn't you and your cohorts now feel comfortable enough to get settled yourselves?"

The words in themselves were not particularly kind, but they were uttered with so little enmity that Harry was momentarily stunned. It was only after a long moment that he realised that he was still staring at Malfoy, and managed to utter a clumsy "Y-yes. Thanks."

Malfoy nodded at him, raising what Harry interpreted as an approving eyebrow, and Harry hurried to turn on his heels and exit the room. The other guys followed him upstairs, Zacharias Smith and his friend Anthony not looking all too pleased about being called Harry Potter's 'cohorts'. Ron didn't look too happy either.

"Can you believe that?" he asked while Harry eyed the dormitory, trying to determine which beds the Slytherins had chosen as their own.

"Believe what?" Harry responded absentmindedly. The room was dark, but the bright rays of the moon shone in through the windows and let in a surprising amount of light.

The drapes on the four poster beds were purple, but Harry noticed that three beds in the furthest corner had green ones. Laughing silently at Slytherin pride, Harry wondered if he could charm his drapes red.

"Stupid serpent git...!" Harry heard Ron mutter as he chose one of the beds furthest from the Slytherins'. Harry grabbed his trunk from the heap where the house-elves had left their luggage, and dragged it towards the bed closest to the door. Someone swore loudly, and Harry realised it was Justin, who has gotten the bed closest to the Slytherins'.

Harry sighed loudly. This was going to be a long year.


	2. The Little Things

****

**Chapter 2. The Little Things**

No Gryffindor, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff boy left the dormitory that night. As the boys finally stumbled to bed at two o'clock in the morning, exhausted after the days exertions, Harry realised the Slytherins still hadn't returned. It seemed he wasn't the only one with insomnia.

After a while Harry could hear the others' breathings evening out as they fell asleep one by one, but even within the familiar walls of Hogwarts Harry couldn't seem to close his eyes. Finally he sighed, and was just about to rise from his bed when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Heavy, lazy steps making their way into the room and past the beds to the furthest corner.

_Goyle_, Harry thought. He waited for the other Slytherins, but when Goyle's low snoring filled the room they still hadn't appeared. Bored and highly irritated, Harry found that he couldn't stand it any longer, and slid out of his bed as silently as he could. Digging through his trunk, he soon found what he was looking for, and clad in the Invisibility Cloak he then descended the stairs into the common had been hoping to find the common room empty and the Slytherins gone, but as he entered into the room he found it lit and occupied. Malfoy and Zabini were sitting in front of the fire place. Malfoy was reading the Daily Prophet, and Zabini was pretty much just staring at the ceiling.

Harry's plan was to walk past them and disappear through the door before the Slytherins had the time to realise that someone invisible had passed them by. But before Harry had the time to take one step, something caught his ear.

"Come on," he heard Zabini whisper, not in the familiar shrill taunt this time. "You know you want it."

The disturbing purr in Zabini's voice made Harry turn and look closer at the two in front of the fire place. And suddenly he was forced to wonder why he hadn't found the scene peculiar at first glance.

They were sitting in different armchairs, but Zabini's chair was pressed so close to Malfoy's as was physically possible. Zabini himself was sitting on his knees in his chair, draped over the arm hold of Malfoy's. His face was only inches from Malfoy's ear, and he was eyeing Malfoy hungrily as he licked his lips.

Malfoy on the other hand seemed less than interested. He was sitting with his back straight, legs stretched out in front of him, reading his newspaper with a look of complete indifference on his face. Upon hearing Zabini's words, he huffed and raised an irritated eyebrow.

"Blaise, haven't I told you already not to bother me?" Malfoy's voice was cold, and he uttered the words nonchalantly without even looking up from the paper.

"Don't be like that, Drake," Zabini murmured, and before Harry had time to register what was happening, Zabini had grabbed Malfoy by his tie and pulled his lips to his. In spite of himself, Harry gasped out loud, clasping his hand over his mouth in hope that the Slytherins hadn't heard him. In silent horror he stared at Malfoy and Zabini, wondering if he had finally lost his marbles. He felt as if he had been watching the scene for an hour, yet Malfoy indulged Zabini for barely half a second before he pushed him away and sat back in his chair.

"Don't be stupid, Blaise," Malfoy said harshly to the boy beside him. "I already told you 'no'."

"Why?" Zabini asked, sitting back on his heels and pouting, an expression which looked rather ridiculous on the usually dignified Slytherin. "You've never been like this before."

Harry couldn't seem to stop staring; he was completely unable to believe what he was hearing. This was something he had certainly never expected to see. His mind ran in all different directions, going through a hundred possibilities for his next action, everything from exposing himself and busting them, to getting a camera and earning big bucks for the pictures. People would need proof, they wouldn't believe him if he simply told them.

Malfoy sighed. "It was a long time ago, Blaise. Let it go."

"No!" Zabini exclaimed, staring at his housemate with a furrowed brow. "It was _not_ a long time ago! Why is it different now?"

Malfoy only stared at him blankly, his mouth in a thin line. After a moment he looked away and rose slowly from his chair, cane in hand to support him. "I'm going to bed."

"No you don't!"

Before Malfoy had time to take a step towards the stairs, Zabini had flown up from his chair. He moved determinedly to stand in front of Malfoy, hands balled into angry fists. "What's going on, Draco? You've never been like this before. I know that the injury in your leg got to you, but— "

"This has nothing to do with my leg," Malfoy hissed, trying to push past Zabini. "Things change. You should learn to adapt, like a true Slytherin would."

"Do you have someone else?" Zabini asked dully, a last attempt to hinder the other boy from leaving. It worked, causing Malfoy to stop in his tracks and turn around slowly. He grabbed Zabini violently by his collar and pulled him towards himself, crashing his lips upon Zabini's. Zabini moaned and his hands flew up to wrap around Malfoy's back and neck, tugging at his shirt. Malfoy kissed Zabini furiously, a sight that made Harry's mouth grow very dry. As he tried to look away, Harry's eyes fixed upon Malfoy's hands. His left hand was clasped around his cane, while his right hand was still holding on to Zabini's collar. But he wasn't holding it in want or desperation of having Zabini pressed against him, it was just sheer need to dominate, to control. Malfoy showed no sign whatsoever of any feeling, even though Zabini was gasping loudly and clinging on to him desperately.

Soon Malfoy pulled away, taking a step back from Zabini. He looked at the other boy with an amused smirk. "I was never _yours_, Blaise. Therefore, I cannot have anyone 'else', as you put it. Now please be so kind as to go find someone else to fuck, and stop bothering me."

Zabini looked much like he was caught between wanting to hit Malfoy and bursting into tears, but he simply nodded stiffly and hurried up the stairs to the dormitory. Malfoy exhaled loudly, sitting back in his chair and resting his head in his palms. Harry let out the breath he had been holding and leaned back against the wall, still in mild shock.

_Malfoy and Blaise...? They've...? _Harry just couldn't believe it. God, the Slytherins really were twisted. He looked over at Malfoy and knew that he should leave, but somehow Harry couldn't take his eyes off Malfoy. He was leaned over in his seat, cradling his head in his hands for a long while. A strange blow of something resembling sympathy hit Harry, and he wondered if Malfoy was crying.

But then Malfoy lifted his face from his hands, and there were no tears in his eyes, no signs of sadness in his expression. He looked at his bad leg, anger flashing in his steel grey eyes. "It has nothing to do with my leg," he whispered to himself, taking a deep breath before grabbing his cane and standing up. Harry followed Malfoy with his gaze as he slowly made his way towards the dorm.

Watching Malfoy disappear at the top of the stairs, Harry stayed leaning against the wall for a long time, wondering what the hell he had just witnessed.

* * *

He sat at the Feast like any other person. Making small talk with Pansy and the others like nothing had happened. Like his 'talk' with Zabini last night hadn't been anything unusual. Zabini sat beside him, listening to what he was saying with a calm, concentrated look on his face. There seemed to be nothing strange at all about that group.

But Harry now saw what he couldn't see before. He watched as Zabini leaned closer to Malfoy, discreetly sweeping against him as he reached for the custard. Malfoy didn't even look towards Zabini, but moved just the tiniest bit away from him as he moved to sit in another position. A small frown appeared on Zabini's face, and for some reason his expression made Harry feel very smug.

"Oh, Harry, watch! Here come the new students!" Hermione squealed, tugging at Harry's sleeve. He turned towards the door, where the first years had just appeared, looking forlorn and nervous as they always did. McGonagall lead them to the front of the Hall, and Harry watched in amusement as the sorting began. The sorting took much longer than usual; there were so many children that had refrained from starting school during the war and had to catch up.

Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws cheered as new students were sorted into their houses. But when the Hat called out "Slytherin!", and a pale girl approached the serpents' table, very little noise was heard. The students clapped their hands encouragingly, but their faces remained as if set in stone. The little girl took her place at the end of the table and gained a few curt nods, before everyone's attention was turned back to the Sorting Hat. And so it continued. Throughout the evening the Slytherins all sat silent and serious, with straight backs and raised heads, looking straight forward with grim expressions.

Harry watched them, wondering how they all got that way. Yes, the Slytherins had always been freaks, ridiculously bound by their beliefs and traditions, but this was plain scary. Now that Snape was gone, they all looked to Malfoy for a leader, a role model. And all of them had turned into more or less copies him, trying to match his cold exterior and collected nonchalance. All of those children were sitting at that table, looking rather as if they were at a funeral instead of a feast.

Harry found it positively terrifying.

* * *

Twenty four sorted into Slytherin. A big year. The kids all sat down at the end of the table, looking up at their elders, waiting for some sort of sign. They were nervous of the silence, though none dared object to it. Draco only nodded at them; welcomes were saved for later.

Finally, the Sorting ceremony was over, and the Feast began. The conversations started building at the Slytherin table, while shouts and cheers were heard from the others'. _Barbarians_, Draco thought, sneering.

Looking over at the other tables, Draco caught Potter staring at him. Potter looked away swiftly. Draco didn't look away, but kept looking at the Gryffindor table, furrowing his brow. What was Potter up to?

Five seconds later, Potter looked back up. Right at Draco. Shocked to find himself still being watched, Potter lowered his gaze again, face even redder than before. Irritated, Draco kept looking at him for a long time, but Potter didn't look back up from his plate again.

"Why are you staring at Potter?"

Blaise leaned in towards Draco, his voice a purr by his ear. Draco huffed. "He was staring at me. He's up to something." Draco shook his head softly, turning to serve himself some pumpkin juice.

Blaise looked over at Potter for a minute, before turning back to Draco, shrugging. "Isn't he always?" he asked, obviously bored by the subject of the Golden Boy.

Draco looked past Zabini him pointedly, furrowing his brow deeper as he kept staring at Potter. "Yes." But he wasn't convinced. Draco was most certainly not intimidated by Potter's or Weasley's pathetic attempts to get even with him, but something about Potter's look just now had been disconcerting.

Taking a deep breath, Draco pushed the thought aside and pretended to take interest in Blaise's babbling about the last Quidditch season. There was nothing he could do about Potter now, anyway.

* * *

"...And then that fucker Wood was taken in! Luckily he was squashed by the Falmouth beaters, but by that time he'd gotten Puddlemere 200 points!"

Draco thought his head was going to explode. "Blaise! Enough!" he finally roared, after Blaise has been going on about the same game for half an hour. "I don't care if the Falcons lost or not, and I don't care if that prick Wood scored or not."

They climbed the stairs to the fourth floor slowly, Draco's cane hitting the stones rhythmically. Blaise shrugged nonchalantly, but a small, embarrassed blush crept over his nose. "You used to."

In spite of his better judgement, Draco reacted to the words. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Blaise breathed in nervously. "I'm just saying. You used to care. About Quidditch. About Potter and Weasley getting what they deserve." Brown eyes darted to the floor, avoiding Draco's gaze. Blaise swallowed loudly, muttering under his breath. "About fucking."

Draco stopped as if he had hit a wall, spitting at Blaise: "What the fuck are you on about?"

Blaise stilled, lifting his face defiantly. "Don't think I haven't noticed. You try to hide it from everyone, but it's not working." He sighed, taking a step back and leaning against the wall. "You don't need anything, you don't _want _anything. You're just..." Blaise trailed off, biting his lip irritably. "You're just _absent_."

Draco did not even bother to pretend to listen to what he is saying. "Is this about last night?" he asked, raising an accusing eyebrow.

"No!" Blaise flushed and huffed, shaking his head violently and lying through his teeth. Quite poorly, at that. "No, it's— "

And so, in an effort to get Blaise off his back, Draco gave him what he wanted. Draco gave him what would keep him quiet. Pushing Blaise up against the wall, Draco proceeded to ravage his lips. Then he quickly broke away, continuing up the stairs. And as expected, Blaise followed, eager for what the kiss has silently promised.

* * *

On Monday morning Zabini put his hand on Malfoy's thigh.

Mid-way through his breakfast, Harry looked up to see Zabini across Malfoy reaching for the marmalade. Harry watched the words 'Excuse me' pass innocently over Zabini's lips. Malfoy nodded absentmindedly. Zabini then moved back, seeming to concentrate on his tea, but he ran his hand slowly up Malfoy's leg, leaving it to rest on his thigh. They sat with their backs turned towards Harry, but from what he could see, Malfoy showed no reaction. Malfoy simply brought a piece of toast to his mouth before turning to speak to Pansy, who sat on his left side. No angry flash of his eyes, no intent to move away. Harry bit the inside of his cheek in irritation. Zabini took no noticeable interest in Malfoy, but instead engaged in conversation with a seventh year Slytherin. Still, his hand rested firmly on Malfoy's leg, moving discreetly higher, closer and closer to—

"Harry? Harry! Are you listening to me?"

Harry choked on his scone.

Ron leaned closer to him and Harry sighed, stifling a cough. "What?" he wheezed, feeling a blush spread on his face as he turned to his friend, trying to pretend that he wasn't just caught witnessing—

What he was just witnessing.

Ron wore a smug grin upon his face, while Hermione looked less than pleased. Harry immediately felt a tinge of worry.

"We're gonna have a party on Saturday! You know, to celebrate our last school year." Dean and Seamus nodded encouragingly at Harry as Ron continued:"It's a tradition, though we won't even have to sneak around about it, as we're all of legal age to drink!"

Hermione frowned, evidently very displeased. "Ron, I don't think it's allowed even if we are all legally adults."

Ron just snorted. "Don't be a spoilsport, 'Mione. After all we've been through, this is not the time to stop taking risks!" He kissed Hermione on the lips as if that would conclude the subject. It quite efficiently did, as Hermione hurried to turn back to her schedule with a furious blush on her face. Ron grinned smugly and turned back to Harry.

"So Harry, what do ya think? We've got it all planned out; it'll be only the additional seventh years and a few selected other students. Justin Finch-Fletchley will handle the booze. He has connections," Ron leered, saying the word _connections_ in a manner that indicated that Harry didn't really want to know more details.

Honestly, he didn't think it was a good idea. If they got caught, they'd be in big trouble. But on the other hand, Ron was right. People needed something to keep their spirits up after all that had happened. So Harry chose only to smile. "Sure thing, Ron. It's a great idea."

"Wicked!" Ron cheered, and ran off towards the Hufflepuff table. "Justin, it's set!"

Hermione snorted loudly, and Harry turned towards her with a questioning brow. "What's so amusing?"

She didn't even look up from her schedule, but a small smile played on her face. "I was just imagining Ron's face when realises that the Slytherins will be attending the party. They can't really be turned away; it's their dormitory too," Hermione sounded nonchalant, but Harry could sense that she felt very smug.

Harry on the other hand felt whatever enthusiasm he had experienced five seconds ago crash like an airplane flown by Madame Maxime. _Shit_, he thought. For once, Harry wished that Hermione would've opened her mouth earlier and said more than she had. But Harry had no time to wallow in desperation before Hermione rose from her seat with determination. "We should get Ron and hurry off to class. We'd better not be late for Potions."

Harry stifled the urge to groan out loud. Potions. Great. The day just kept getting better and better.

* * *

The new Potions professor Pennyroyal-somethingsomething was a measly young twit who frighteningly enough seemed like she could be related to Trelawney. Draco hated her from the first time he laid eyes on her thin frame and long, uncombed grey hair. Her nagging voice got so high pitched when she hysterically tried to bring order to the class that Draco wondered if even bats could hear her. He moved to the back of the class to prepare his Doxycide, trying desperately to block out that vulgar sound.

Blaise was cutting the beetleroot, winking at Draco as he moved the knife overt the board. Irritated though Draco was, he was determined not to encourage such classless behaviour by reacting to it. Blaise had always had a problem with understanding that discretion was key. It was one of the reasons why Draco hadn't wanted to get involved with him in the first place.

But now he had made his bed, and he had to lie in it. Cursed be teenage lust.

Draco sent Blaise to fetch some more crows' eyes, just to get rid of him for a second. As he watched him go, Draco's eyes subconsciously wandered over Blaise's body.

_Well, at least he has a nice ass,_ Draco thought approvingly. _Even if the brain leaves some things to be desired._

Then suddenly Draco felt someone else's eyes on him. He looked around, and if it wasn't Potter, standing on the other side of the classroom, staring at him. Again.

Draco sneered at Potter, expecting him to turn away, flustered with embarrassment. But the git didn't even have the courtesy to pretend that he wasn't watching Draco. He just kept meeting his gaze steadily, stirring his concoction far more than the required 12 times.

Potter's gaze was making Draco very uncomfortable. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn't seem to make his body respond. Potter's marvellously green eyes seemed to have him nailed in place, rendering him completely unable to move. Draco narrowed his eyes at Potter, hoping for him to understand his silent message to fuck off and stop disturbing him.

To stop distracting him.

"Drake! Did you already hear?"

Blaise awoke Draco from his trance, and he turned his attention towards him. "What is it? And don't call me that," Draco sneered, thinking of just how vulgar and _peasantlike_ Drake sounded.

"The eighth years are having a party on Saturday." Blaise reeked of excitement, of the sort that a little boy has on Christmas morning. Draco found it positively disgusting.

"Yes. _And?_" he asked absentmindedly, his eyes darting towards the Gryffindor table again. Potter had now turned his attention towards the potion, which didn't seem to be quite in order. Draco snort out loud at the failed concoction, and as if he had heard him, Potter looked up. He scowled at Draco, but his expression showed little actual enmity. Then Potter looked to Draco's side, where Blaise was still desperately trying to get him interested in the party, and his eyes seemed to darken. Potter looked away instantly, dark hair falling forward to cover brilliant green eyes.

He didn't lift his gaze again, and for some reason that bothered Draco endlessly. Who the hell did Potter think he was?

But in the end Draco had to accept his defeat, and he turned back to Blaise with an irritated glare. Blaise was still going on about that fucking party, and Draco didn't think that he had ever been this annoyed with him before.

"Yes, yes, Blaise. Do what you want, I'm not your fucking mother. Just go to the bloody party," Draco snapped, starting to stir their potion furiously. "If you go, take the others with you. Pansy and Queenie will be over the moon."

Blaise's face dropped instantly at Draco's words. "Aren't you coming?" he asked forlornly.

"No." Draco shook his head. "I have better things to do than spend my time surrounded by drunken Gryffindorks. Besides, I wouldn't drink anything offered to me by that Finch-Fletchley. Disgusting Mudblood."


	3. Tip the Scales

**Chapter 3**. **Tip the Scales**

"Harry! _Harry! _Get _down_!"

Harry looked down at Hermione. A very pissed off Hermione. He couldn't seem to come to the conclusion of why she was mad at him. Everyone was dancing, drunk and merry. Harry wondered why it was that everyone else was allowed to be shitfaced, except for him.

On the other hand, everyone else didn't have a Hermione on their back.

Harry had to lean closer to hear his friend properly over the noise in the room. "What is it, 'Mione?" he slurred.

Hermione took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring like they always did when she was trying to control her temper. She gritted between clenched teeth: "You were _dancing _on the table."

_Oh_, was the only thing that crossed Harry's mind.

He looked around himself, and found that he was indeed standing on top of a coffee table. Somewhere deep in his mind Harry knew that he should be mortified, but right now he couldn't seem to do anything but laugh. And when he began, he found that he couldn't stop, but kept laughing until his stomach started hurting.

Suddenly Harry felt the table shift. _Oh, no_, he realised, much too late, it wasn't the table. It was him.

Fallen down on the floor, Harry still couldn't seem to stop chuckling. Hermione's nostrils flared more than ever, and she breathed in deeply several times before speaking. "Honestly, Harry!" She looked around the room, frowning. "I'd better go look for Ron, he was worse off than you. The last time I saw him, he was trying to kiss Moaning Myrtle." Hermione pierced Harry with her gaze. "_You _stay here. I'll be back in a second."

Harry snorted. Hermione was such a party-pooper. She would definitely have benefited from letting her hair down once in a while, maybe then Ron wouldn't have be running after Moaning Myrtle.

Harry wanted to make his thoughts known to Hermione, but by the time he found himself actually able to form the words, she had already run off. Harry frowned. _Darn it._

"Harry, hey! Whatcha doin' down there fo'?"

A very drunken Irishman approached him, a bottle of scotch in hand. Harry grinned stupidly at the bottle. Still grinning, he then turned to Seamus. "I have absolutely no idea," he answered truthfully.

Seamus chuckled at that, offering Harry the bottle. "Ya look like ya could use a drink."

"You bet," Harry nodded, and tried to crawl up from the floor. As he sat up though, the earth seemed to shift beneath him and his head started spinning violently. Harry decided that a drink was probably not the best idea after all.

"You know, Seamus," Harry groaned, standing up on shaking legs. "I think I'll go drink some water. Let's save that scotch for later."

"Sure thing, mate."

Harry nodded gratefully, though he knew that at this rate there would be no scotch left by the time he returned. Still, he saluted Seamus and made his way towards the stairway.

Climbing the stairs was _not _a pleasant thing. By the time he reached the top, Harry had vowed thousands of times to never, ever drink Firewhisky again. He stumbled through the dormitory and busted the bathroom door open.

"Potter! What the hell are you doing here?"

_Fuck._Malfoy was standing in front of a sink, dressed in gray trousers and a white collar shirt, water dripping from his wet hair onto his face and clothes. Harry opened his mouth to say something snide and witty, but his not-too-sober brain couldn't seem to form a single decent sentence. Even after standing in the doorway for several minutes, Harry was still only able to mutter a few incoherent words.

"Uhm… Malfoy. I- uhm…"

Malfoy wiped his face half-heartedly with a towel, furrowing his brow at Harry. "Potter, are you _drunk?_" He sounded almost amused.

Harry opened his mouth to inform Malfoy that he was certainly _not _drunk, or at least not as drunk as he would have liked to be. But something about Malfoy standing there, half-clad, looking so bloody arrogant in spite of his disarrayed appearance, brought other thoughts to Harry's mind. Falling over his own feet more than once, he made his way over to Malfoy.

Harry grabbed Malfoy's arm brutally, pushing him up against the sink. Malfoy's mouth fell into a foul sneer, his voice morphing into a hiss. "What the hell do you think you are doing? Potter! Answer me!"

But Harry couldn't answer. His mind was fixed on Malfoy's mouth; on that drop of water that was gathering on his upper lip, on that sneer twisting his pink lips. Above all, Harry's mind was fixed upon knowing what that sneer tasted like, if a mouth that could only spit hexes and curses could taste anything but foul.

Harry was determined to find out.

Malfoy gasped in shock as Harry pressed his lips to his. The contact only lasted for the blink of a second, only for as long as it took for Malfoy to react and push Harry away. Not long. But long enough for Harry to find out that Slytherins taste anything but foul.

Malfoy stared at Harry in shock while he crouched down to pick up his cane from the bath room floor. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he hissed.

Harry couldn't seem to come up with a better answer than shrugging. "I'm not playing. I just kissed you."

Malfoy stared at Harry stupidly for a minute. It took a moment for him to gather himself. "'_Just_ kissed me?' What the fuck?" He scowled at Harry, shaking his head softly. "I don't care about your sexual preferences, Potter, but please don't make _me_ a victim of your perversions."

With those words Malfoy attempted to walk past Harry and exit to the dorm. And somewhere in the back of his brain Harry knew that he had already gone too far, that he would be very lucky if Malfoy chose to pretend that the whole scenario had never happened. But instead of making the smart move and getting the hell out of there, Harry chose to listen to the other part of his mind. The drunken one, telling him "why stop now, when you're already in so much trouble? It can hardly get any worse".

He grabbed Malfoy by his shoulders, efficiently trapping him in the doorway. "I'm the perverted one?" Harry leered, his face mere inches from Malfoy's.

Malfoy shuddered slightly beneath Harry's touch, but his face remained calm and collected. "Let me go, Potter," he ordered, eyes blazing.

Harry grinned mischievously. "You didn't answer my question." When Malfoy still refrained from answering, Harry leaned forward and trapped Malfoy's lips under his for the second time that evening. And for the second time Malfoy pushed him away immediately, this time hitting Harry in the stomach with his cane.

Harry bent over in pain, but luckily the alcohol in his blood softened the blow, though he was quite certain he would feel the repercussions the following day. Right then, all he could feel was rage. Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy, still blocking the doorway.

"So you'll fuck Zabini, but you won't even kiss me?"

Harry had no idea where those words had erupted from. And in his intoxicated state he barely had the presence of mind to be horrified by his statement. He pushed the thought aside, thinking it was just another thing for him to regret tomorrow.

Standing up straight, Harry took in Malfoy's expression. Malfoy looked much as if he had been hit, his eyes were as big as saucers and his was face paler than Harry had ever seen it. Malfoy swallowed loudly, fighting to retain his calm posture.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he droned, trying to seem indifferent even as his voice broke slightly at the words.

"Oh, please!" Harry barked out. "I see right through your little game. In the common room that first night. His hand on your thigh by the table. Your throat flushed when—" Harry trailed off, realising he might have taken it too far.

Malfoy suddenly regained some of his colour, and a vicious grin was spreading on his face. "You've spent a lot of time observing me, haven't you, Potter?"

He took a step closer to Harry, his hand firmly gripping his cane. Reflexively Harry tried to back away, but found himself with his back against the wall. He swallowed. "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. Anyone could've noticed."

Malfoy chuckled, taking yet another step closer. "No, Potter. I have taken great care that no one would find out about Zabini's little infatuation with me. It wouldn't provide a flattering image of the Slytherins, you see."

He stopped in front of Harry, leaning onto his cane nonchalantly. Harry knew he could have moved past him easily, but something in Malfoy's eyes kept him locked in place.

"Not even Goyle or Pansy know anything. So would you mind explaining the fact that _you _just happened to find out?"

Harry gritted his teeth, angry and humiliated by the fact that he couldn't tell Malfoy about the Invisibility Cloak and get himself off the hook. Malfoy smirked, obviously very happy to have cornered Harry after being taken so off guard himself. "I didn't think so."

Malfoy was already turning away when he froze mid-movement. "And by the way," he added as an afterthought. "What in finding out about Zabini made you chase me up here and try to kiss me? I would have expected you of all people to out me immediately and without discretion."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows provokingly, grinning as he turned his back on Harry and limped out through the door.

Harry stood frozen in place for what seemed like an eternity, contemplating his next move. He thought about running after Malfoy, knocking him down and beating him to a bloody pulp. The Ferret hadn't got the right to talk to him like that, make assumptions about him and—

Above all, Malfoy hadn't got the right to be correct about his assumptions.

Finally, Harry heard the dorm door slam shut. Malfoy had left. Harry breathed out as if he had been holding his breath for ages, and calmed down enough to realise that his pulse was racing. He turned around and stumbled towards a sink, then put his head under the faucet and let the cold water wash over him. After calming down somewhat and downing what seemed like litres of ice-cold water, Harry turned off the tap and stumble out into the dormitory. Ripping off his glasses and falling on to his bed, Harry did not even bother to change into his pyjamas.

He fell asleep within a minute.

* * *

_"So you'll fuck Zabini, but you won't even kiss me?"_Standing under the hot spray of the shower, Draco went over the peculiar events of the previous night. He was still quite uncertain if it had been real or just a very, very disturbing dream. If Draco had ever imagined how the scenario of Potter finding out about his affair with Blaise would go, this was definitely not what he would have expected.

_Merlin, Potter must have been hammered_, Draco thought, chuckling to himself. That however did not change the fact that Potter had tried to kiss him. Well, tried _and_ succeeded, but Draco chose to ignore that humiliating fact for now.

Still, Draco couldn't pretend that he wasn't intrigued by Potter's actions. Who could have known that Harry Potter was actually the Poof Who Lived? Admittedly, Draco knew that Potter might just be bisexual, but 'gay' would stand out so nicely on the magazine cover.

Draco grinned to himself as he stepped out of the shower and moved to dry his hair.

It seemed to him that the year might prove to become quite interesting after all.


	4. The Games We Play

**Chapter 4. The Games We Play**

"Good morning, Potter," Draco drawled on Monday morning as he passed Potter in the common room on his way to breakfast. Potter looked over, momentarily only confused before the mortification set in. Feeling very pleased with himself, Draco turned away and continued his walk out through the portrait, leaving Potter to stare after him in horror.

"What was that about?" Blaise asked, looking suspiciously over his shoulder back at Potter.

"Just being nice to our new roommates," Draco answered offhandedly, in a manner that ensured Blaise of the fact that Draco was lying through his teeth and that he would continue to do so if asked further questions.

Though clearly displeased, Blaise wisely chose to only lift an eyebrow. "Right."

Potter didn't show up at breakfast. His refusal to meet Draco's silent derision was annoying, but on the other hand, it proved that getting under Potter's skin was even easier than Draco had anticipated.

Draco feared that Potter would also skip Potions that afternoon. Professor Pennyroyal was already dividing the class into pairs when Potter burst through the door, flushed as if he had been running.

"I'm sorry Professor," he said, looking pathetically apologetic. "I forgot my book and had to run and get it."

"Very well, Potter," the Professor answered, surprisingly reproving for someone speaking to St. Potter. "But do not let it happen again." She turned back to her parchment, thoughtfully tapping her pale cheek with her horrendous green quill before she started calling out names again.

"Goyle and Thomas, Davis and Brown, Smith and Granger, Corner and Abbott, Potter and Malfoy, Weasley and Goldstein."

It took a moment for the words to hit Draco. Paired with Potter? Splendid. Well, at least taunting him would provide as entertainment while Potter destroyed their potion.

Groans erupted from all over the classroom, but to Draco's surprise Potter sat very still and quiet. It struck Draco that Potter was probably just frozen in place from dread. Draco's amusement at the thought was endless.

Potter sat as if on needles, jumping slightly when Weasley leaned over to speak to him. Potter stared at Draco cautiously from behind his inky hair, looking away immediately when Draco let him know that he was on to him. Granger and Weasley watched at Potter with concern, but he just brushed them off, forcing a smile until his friends were content to look the other way. Draco huffed to himself, marvelling at the stupidity of Potter's cohorts. Then again, what had he expected? After all, Granger was a Mudblood, and Weasley had spent most of his Saturday night trying to kiss a ghost in the girls' bathroom.

"Fuck!" Blaise cursed from beside Draco, forcing him to turn away from Potter. "Could this be any worse? You got Potter and I got sodding Longbottom. This is ridiculous!"

"Yes, it is simply preposterous," Draco responded absentmindedly. "Will you get me a cauldron while you get yours?" he asked, knowing Potter would probably break theirs before he got it out of the supply closet.

Blaise sneered displeased, but nodded obediently. "Sure."

As he walked away, Draco turned back towards Potter. Potter had now gathered the courage to look up at him, and was meeting Draco's gaze like a deer caught in the headlights. When Draco raised a challenging eyebrow at him, Potter stood up, a contemptuous frown on his face, and moved slowly past the other students towards Draco's desk. Before Potter had reached Draco, Blaise was back with the cauldrons.

"Here you go," he said, dropping the heavy cauldron onto the table with a loud thump. He moved over to Longbottom's desk quickly, staring provocatively at the approaching Potter as he went. Draco suppressed the urge to snort at Blaise's protectiveness, and it seemed that he wasn't the only one.

"Wow, your lap dog actually moved away from your side for a minute," Potter muttered, sneering over at Blaise. " I'm surprised he dared to leave you alone."

"Perhaps he thought that you wouldn't try to assault me in front of the others," Draco drawled, his voice hushed to make sure no one overheard them.

Potter took a quick intake of breath, jumping at Draco's words as if they'd stung him. He looked nervously around the room before turning back to Draco and hissing, "Would you be quiet? Someone might hear—"

"Embarrassed, Potter?" Draco said, thriving in his accomplishment as Potter's green eyes blazed.

"You wish," Potter answered weakly, blushing despite his bold words. To Draco's utter dismay Potter then turned on his heels to fetch the potion ingredients. Upon his return, Potter did not vent another word, but simply handed Draco a cutting board and a knife. Draco huffed and began to cut the aconite. Potter started mashing the caterpillars, furiously moving the knife over the board, sending diverse pieces of larva flying all over the table.

_Well, this is no fun_, Draco thought as the silence drew out. Could the war really have changed even Potter so thoroughly that he was now unable to react appropriately to Draco's taunting? The idea was preposterous.

"What impressive signs of self-restraint you show, Potter," Draco finally droned, unable to stay silent any longer. "I would have thought you would have either broken my nose or kissed me by now."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter barked, stopping his vicious massacre of insects to looked up at Draco, his mouth drawn in a thin line. "What do you want from me?"

Draco shrugged, observing his fingernails for a minute, pretending to cogitate carefully. "I think the real question is: What is it that _you _want?"

Potter sighed, knuckles whitening around the knife he was holding. "What are you talking about?"

"You tell me," Draco stated, knowing perfectly well that his answer would irritate Potter even further. "Is it just me, or do you generally go around snogging innocent people in bathrooms?"

"It has nothing to do with you, you arrogant prick," Potter sneered, still trying desperately to fight the humiliated blush on his face. "I was drunk out of my fucking mind, okay?"

Draco grinned contemptuously, cocking a taunting eyebrow at Potter. "Whatever you prefer to tell yourself, hero."

Moving to reach for the nettles, Draco leaned forward over the table. A fatal mistake. Without paying attention, Draco bumped his bad knee into the leg of the table. An excruciating sting went through his leg, and Draco fell back onto the bench, yelping in pain.

Potter jumped, eyes wide from shock. "Malfoy? Are you okay?" He moved to walk around the table, but before he managed to reach Draco, an enraged Blaise was already by his side.

"What did you do?" Blaise accused, placing a protective hand on Draco's shoulder as he narrowed his eyes at Potter.

"What?" Potter asked, irritation flaming in his eyes. "I didn't—"

"He didn't do anything," Draco muttered humiliated, sitting up straighter in his seat and shrugging Blaise's hand off him in the process. "Just return to your work, Blaise."

Draco could feel Blaise shuddering from suppressed rage beside him, but to Draco's relief he did not object. With a swirl of robes worthy of Severus, Blaise returned to his potions, fists clenched white in anger. Draco fought the embarrassed blush that threatened to make itself visible on his cheeks, furious at himself for being so weak.

Breathing deeply, Draco compelled himself to calm down as he tried not to think of the painful throbbing in his leg. It took a moment for Draco to realise that Potter was still staring at him, his concern and confusion evident in his expression. Clenching his teeth, Draco sighed deeply. Never had he sunk so low as to constrain even Potter to pity him.

"Jeez, Malfoy. Are you alright?"

Potter's voice was hushed, and Draco felt something resembling gratitude at the fact that his former nemesis tried to prevent the other students from noticing his sorry state. Still, Draco couldn't prevent the irritated snarl that escaped him.

"I bumped my leg. Big deal. Mind your own business, Potter." The words were perhaps unnecessarily harsh, but knowing Potter, Draco doubted anything less would get through to him.

Unfortunately, Potter didn't seem at all moved by the words. "Maybe you should go see Madame Pomfrey?"

"Don't be stupid. It's nothing. Just let it go," Draco muttered in annoyance, his good mood from that morning long gone. Moving to prepare the scurvy-grass, he watched from the side as Potter carefully reached for the nettles and began to cut them. Astonishingly enough, Potter made no move to speak again during what remained of the lesson.

* * *

After Potions, the nuisance that was Blaise grew even worse than before. It did not seem to matter how many times Draco told him to bugger the fuck off, Blaise was consistently by his side.

By dinnertime Draco had had enough. Since he couldn't exactly run from anyone, Draco convinced Goyle to distract Blaise on the way to the Great Hall, while he himself took the opportunity to jump behind a corner and out of the others' sight. Hurrying down the hall, Draco stepped into the first empty classroom he could find.

Or what he thought was an empty classroom.

"What are you doing here?" Potter's familiar voice cut through the air.

_Fuck, _Draco thought, fighting the urge to turn on his heels and run blindly back out through the turned to find Potter sitting by a desk in the first row of the Charms classroom, quill in hand and piles of books and parchment surrounding him. Sneering, Draco cursed himself for his poor luck.

"None of your business," Draco muttered, though he found it hard to be particularly hostile while still breathing quickly as if he had run a marathon. "Shouldn't you be at dinner?" He tried to listen through the closed door for footsteps. Luckily, the hall sounded completely silent.

"Flitwick gave me detention for sleeping in class," Potter answered, a small grin appearing on his face. "Can you believe it? Flitwick, giving out detentions. When has that ever happened before?"

In spite of himself, Draco felt the corners of his mouth rising slightly. "And I always thought he was such a sweet old man."

For a second the tension in the room was gone, and a warm feeling almost resembling truce seemed to envelop them. But after running away from Blaise, Draco thought it felt silly to spend his time locked in a room with Potter. Draco turned to the door again, his hand is already reaching for the handle when Potter spoke.

"What happened?"

Bewildered, Draco turned around. "What?"

Potter fidgeted in his seat, gazing at Draco cautiously from behind the piles of books on his desk. "What happened to your leg? How did you injure it?"

What astounded Draco was not Potter's curiosity, but the fact that he managed to make the question sound like he actually cared. It caught Draco so off guard that the response crossed his lips before he managed to gain the presence of mind to prevent it.

"Fiendfyre. "

"What?" Potter asked incredulously, letting the quill he was holding drop onto the desk. The ink splattered all over his parchment, but Potter didn't even flinch. "When have you—"

Potter was caught off as the realisation hit him. He stared at Draco, his brow knitted and his mouth twisted in a disbelieving sneer. "In the Room of Requirement? But I didn't—"

"A small ember attached to my trousers," Draco interrupted him, hearing his own voice grow raw at the mention of the accident. Draco leaned back against the wall, memories attacking him with such force that he felt suddenly powerless. Gritting his teeth, Draco fought to prevent his voice from breaking. "It didn't even flare up. It barely touched my skin, but it was enough."

"I'm sorry," Potter said weakly. Draco couldn't hold Potter's poor attempt at sympathy against him; that's what they all said.

"Don't be."

Suddenly Draco felt furious, and he didn't even know why. Who could he be angry at? At Potter, for having brought up the subject of his injury, or at the healers, who had left him like that in the first place?

Or at himself, for making the decisions that had ended up crippling him?

Potter's chair screeched against the floor as he moved to stand up. "Can't the mediwizards heal you?" he asked, slowly stepping past the desks towards Draco.

"No," Draco spat, infuriated by the mere thought of those useless bastards at St Mungo's. "Not that they really want to, anyway," he added bitterly as an afterthought.

Potter had stopped a few yards from him, moving his weight uncomfortably from one leg to another, feeble sympathy evident on his face. It irritated Draco to no end.

"Stop that," Draco commanded abruptly. When Potter looked at him in confusion, Draco grew even more irate. "Stop pitying me, for Merlin's sake! I'm not some goddamn orphan kitten needing to be saved."

His eyebrow reaching his hairline, Potter stared at Draco dumbly for a second. Then slowly Potter's mouth twisted into an angry sneer. "What the hell is your problem? Just because _you_ have no compassion doesn't mean that everyone else is such an unempathic bastard."

"I did not ask for a moral lecture, nor for your graphically expressed opinion of me," Draco threw back, fighting the urge to hit the bigoted Gryffindor. Were it not for his obvious disadvantage in physical combat, Draco would probably have abandoned words and attacked Potter long ago. "I don't need your pity, and I don't want it. So would you _please_ just get the hell out of my face?"

Draco spat the last words at Potter, breathing agitatedly. Potter stared at Draco intently, his blazing eyes washing over Draco like waves of the shore, challenging him as the ocean challenges the sailor. Potter clenched his fists, trembling from suppressed rage, and yet somehow smiling at the same time as he answered:

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

Draco barely had time to register the words before a body crashed into his, pushing him back against the wall. Potter's lips were on Draco's, biting, sucking, ravaging, so furious and so amazing that Draco couldn't do anything except gasp and writhe against the body pressed against him.

A loud clatter was heard as Draco's cane fell to the floor, and a couple of seconds afterwards Potter took a step back. Draco's knees trembled violently as he remained standing by the wall, his heart seeming to beat its way out of his chest. Potter looked just as shaken, his breathing quick and hoarse and his cheeks flaming. His eyes were a vivid green, alive and seeming to quiver with fear, anticipation, and excitement. Staring into them, Draco felt as if he was being sucked into eternity over and over again.

Draco swallowed, breaking free from Potter's enthralling gaze to look for his cane. Kneeling down to pick it up, Draco could still hear Potter's laboured breathing, could still feel Potter's eyes piercing through his skin.

"I have to go," Draco murmured, rising up and moving towards the door.

A sardonic huff was heard from behind him, followed by Potter's voice. "What, so it's no fun anymore when it's not a joke?"

Draco looked back to see Potter staring at him, angry and disappointed. "You're a coward, Malfoy."

If there was something Potter knew how to do, it was pushing Draco's buttons. Without a seconds thought Draco took a step forth and grabbed Potter by his ugly gold-red tie, tugging him forward and sealing their lips together. Burying a hand in Potter's hair, Draco tugged at the thick strands, forcing his head backwards as he continued to ravage Potter's mouth. Draco's tongue grazed the inside of his lips, brushing over Potter's tongue and teeth, the tiny moans he let out echoing in the room.

Potter's hands came up to wrap around Draco's chest, tugging at his shirt, his nails digging into Draco's back. Potter pressed further into him, pushing Draco back against the wall and sliding a leg between his. Draco's cane fell to the floor once more, but this time he let it fall on purpose. Draco tugged Potter's shirt out of his trousers, sliding a cool hand onto his bare skin. Potter shivered and gasped, pressing his hips against Draco's. Draco felt Potter's erection press against his hip, and he moved against it, thriving as the movement forced a guttural groan to escape Potter.

A vicious smile spread on Draco's face, as he broke the kiss and moved his hand slowly to the front of Potter's trousers. Potter gasped loudly as Draco cupped him briefly, before moving to unbutton his pants and tugging them down his hips. Potter's erection strained against the fabric of his boxers. He looked at Draco and licked his lips nervously, the arousal and want apparent on his face. Draco wondered briefly if Potter had done this before.

It crossed Draco's mind that perhaps he was going too far this time. That this was not like screwing around with Blaise or Jeffrey or Kevin. With Potter there was a much higher risk involved. Draco knew he couldn't bribe or threaten Potter into silence, and he definitely couldn't trust him.

But now Draco had Potter there before him, gasping and moaning and clenching his teeth, more at Draco's mercy than he had ever been. The thrill of that knowledge was impossibly arousing, the thought pushing all Draco's doubt into the furthest corner of his mind, safely stocked away for later contemplation.

Without further hesitation Draco kneeled down before Potter. The movement was made with some difficulty, Draco's bad knee straining against the effort. He ran his hands down Potter's stomach to the hem of his boxers, pulling them slowly down over his hips. Potter gasped as his erection sprung free, supporting himself against the wall with his shaking arms.

Leaning forward, Draco moved to kiss Potter's stomach, nibbling slightly at the soft flesh beneath his navel. When Potter trembled beneath his touch, Draco snickered against his skin, slowly kissing his way lower while he reached forth and wrapped a hand around Potter's cock.

"Oh, God…!" Potter choked out, trembling violently as Draco's mouth came down on the head of his erection, his tongue gathering up the salty precome.

Carefully Draco took him into his mouth, immensely pleased with himself when he heard Potter hiss through his teeth in pleasure. The taste and smell of Potter made Draco light-headed and dizzy with the reminiscence of the first time he had done this, the first time he had felt this surge of power, of ultimate control. And yet, it had been a while since Draco had wanted to do this to someone as much as he now wanted to do it to Potter.

Bobbing his head slowly, Draco slid his tongue firmly against Potter's erection. One of Potter's hands came down to grip Draco's hair, the other still keeping him upright against the wall. Potter tugged at Draco's hair in an almost painful manner, his nails digging into Draco's scalp, sending small shivers down his back. Cautiously Draco brushed his teeth over the sensitive skin, feeling the touch make Potter's entire body tremble. It didn't take long before Potter was coming, gripping Draco's hair harder than ever, gasping and writhing as he emptied himself down Draco's throat.

Draco licked the sensitive head one last time before he moved to pull Potter's boxers and trousers back up. Potter's hand untangled from Draco's hair as he stood slowly, a smug grin on his face. Draco leaned forward, placing a hard kiss on his lips, letting Potter taste himself in Draco's mouth as he buttoned Potter's trousers. When Draco pulled away Potter stared at him for a long minute, his breath still ragged and his legs still trembling violently.

Potter's forehead was damp with sweat, his lower lip was bloody from being chewed through, and his eyes were dark pools of desire. He breathed heavily, licking his lips repeatedly, opening and closing his mouth as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Taking in Potter's dishevelled looks, Draco silently congratulated himself.

_I've still got it,_ Draco air grew thick as the silence protracted. Potter was waiting for something. Or perhaps Draco was. But that something never came, and eventually Draco grew tired of waiting.

"Well, Potter," Draco began, nodding curtly at the flushed Potter. "This was… interesting." Draco articulated the last word slowly, letting the word purr seductively on the tip of his tongue. Potter took a quick intake of breath at the sound, biting his already mauled lip in a feeble attempt to muffle the sound.

Sliding out from the space between Potter and the wall, Draco bent over to pick up his cane. Moving was uncomfortable as Draco was still agonisingly hard, but that could be taken care of later. The important thing now was to remain on top of the game. Draco knew that if he played well, he would get his prize, _and more, _later.

Draco grinned to himself. _Good things come to those who wait._Upon opening the door, Draco looked over his shoulder one last time. Then, with a self-satisfied smirk he exited, slamming the door in the face of a very dumbfounded Potter.

* * *

Potter tried to catch his gaze, to get Draco to look at him. In the Great Hall, in the dormitory, in the hallways. Potter did anything to catch his attention. And it drove him absolutely insane when Draco ignored him.

On one hand Draco was highly irritated by Potter's tactlessness and lack of subtlety. But on the other hand, the thrill of the conquest was more than enough to make Draco forget said minor disadvantages. It was not as if anyone was looking for signs of the Golden Boy's infatuation with the infamous Malfoy heir. But if someone _had _known what to look for, Potter's constant staring and glassy gaze would have been a dead give-away.

Then again, Draco knew that he would have been lying if he had said that wasn't part of the thrill. Truthfully, there was only one reason people broke rules: the excitement that comes with the possibility of getting caught. And Draco knew that better than anyone.

"What did you do to Potter?" Pansy asked at dinner, a week from the events in the Charms classroom. Draco's only response was a pale eyebrow curved in question. Pansy huffed, letting Draco know that she didn't buy his act of obliviousness for one second.

"What makes you think I did anything?" Draco asked in a bored tone, buttering his bread.

"It's much too obvious," Pansy said, nodding offhandedly towards the Gryffindor table. "He looks angry, yet he hasn't made a move to confront you about it. So either you humiliated him greatly, or you took something of his and he wants it back." She cocked an eyebrow at Draco, grinning wickedly. "Either way, he's keeping quiet, so he doesn't want anyone else to know about it."

"Yeah, Draco, what did you do?" Queenie piped in, her ears snapping up gossip like a Dementor sensing despair. Draco wished that she was as excited about her studies.

It was all Draco could do to keep the grimace off his face. Damn that Pansy, she always made use of her brain in the most unfortunate moments. For a moment Draco contemplated the most sensible answer, disguising his uncertainty with a dramatic pause. Draco could feel the two girls holding their breath, as Blaise did likewise, sitting beside Draco and pretending that he wasn't listening.

"What I did is for me to know and for you to find out when I choose to tell you," Draco stated, still keeping his main focus on the bread he was carefully buttering, pointedly ignoring his audience. "You would all do best to stay out of it."

It wasn't a direct threat, but an efficient one all the same. Pansy simply shrugged, turning back to her mashed potatoes, causing the ever so reluctant Queenie to follow her lead.

Blaise was the only one who didn't seem able to get the hint. Draco was hardly surprised when he brought the matter up again on their way back to the dormitory later in the evening.

"Why won't you tell us?" Blaise asked, and Draco knew without asking what he was talking about.

"Because it is none of your business," Draco proclaimed, knowing himself to be delusional in believing that his hostility would make Blaise give up. He was as stubborn as a common country mule.

"In the past you wouldn't have hesitated to brag about embarrassing the Golden Boy in one way or another. What have you done now that you're so reluctant to share?" Blaise looked at Draco, his brow knitted in suspicion and confusion.

Draco decided to bypass the question entirely and turn the wheel around. "Why is it so hard for you to back off, Blaise? I did not and I _will _not tell you, because I do not _want_ to."

A hurt expression flashed over Blaise's face, but he gathered himself quickly. "I'm just looking out for you, Drake," Blaise uttered, his voice slightly raw. It seemed that Draco's distrust had cut him deep. Some part of Draco felt slightly guilty for letting his friend down. And in truth, Draco had never been able to stay mad at Blaise for long.

"I know you are," Draco stated, offering Blaise a serious smile.

Blaise lit up immediately, flashing Draco a brilliant smile in return. "You know I will never back off, don't you?" he asked, grinning widely.

Draco nodded, returning his smile. "I know."

And he had to admit that as much as Blaise irritated him, it felt good to know that you had someone looking out for you.

Draco felt as sting of guilt thinking about it. Blaise would have been horrified if he knew what game Draco was playing with Potter. Draco didn't want to lose Blaise because of that. But neither did he want to give up Potter, taunting the sod was just too much fun.

As Draco walked in content silence with Blaise, he prayed quietly to unknown gods that he wasn't fucking up what was left of his life for a silly power play.


	5. Stupid

**Chapter 5. Stupid**

Three more days went by before Potter found him.

Draco had carelessly stayed behind in the common room after everyone else had retired, caught up in reading about the brewing of Polyjuice potion. Believing that every other eighth year was fast asleep, Draco just about fell off his chair upon hearing his voice.

"What are you reading?" Potter whispered in his ear, causing Draco's breath to catch in his throat. Draco spun around in the armchair, snarling at Potter, who was standing behind him and grinning smugly. Draco was amazed at how he had missed Potter entering the room.

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing?" Draco drawled, trying to pretend that Potter hadn't caught him completely off guard, even as he felt a furious flush threatening to spread over his nose.

Potter only chuckled, strutting around Draco's chair and slumping down ungracefully in the armchair next to Draco's. Draco tried to ignore him pointedly by turning back to his book, but the arrogant sod kept staring at him, completely disrupting his concentration. Finally Draco slammed the book shut and turned to Potter.

"What is it that you want?" Draco growled, furious to find that his irritation had absolutely no impact whatsoever.

"What game are you playing?" Potter's expression was totally blank as he stared at Draco, but a small blush spread across his neck, and his voice wasn't completely steady. The knowledge of Potter's uncertainty made Draco regain some of his confidence and posture.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Potter," Draco stated, cocking an indifferent eyebrow.

The blush was now spreading over Potter's cheeks, and Draco could see that he was biting his lower lip to prevent himself from yelling.

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, _Malfoy_," Potter growled, pronouncing Draco's name with punctuated scorn, much like in the old days. Still, Potter's nervous flush was ever present on his face.

"You have taunted me for years, and then you go and—" Potter was cut off, incapable of saying the words out loud, his cheeks flaming with the memory of their last private conversation. "And now you're acting as if I don't even exist! What is it that you _want_ from me?"

Potter was furious, clenching his fists in a desperate attempt to control his temper. Thinking himself to be threatening, Potter was completely unaware of the fact that he was behaving just as Draco had expect him to.

Just as he had wanted him to.

A malicious grin spreading on his face, Draco leaned closer to Potter. Just a bit, only so much that Potter's eyes widened in surprise and his breath caught in apprehension. He mirrored Draco's movement subconsciously, leaning slightly forward, his hands gripping the fabric of the chair.

"The real question, _Potter_," Draco purred, the name rolling on his tongue, "is what is it that _you_ want?"

A crease formed between Potter's brows, and his mouth twisted in irritation. "What are you on about?"

"I'm saying that perhaps you're asking the wrong questions. Perhaps you shouldn't be asking me what _I _want." Draco's lips were drawn into an alluring sneer as he leaned yet another inch closer to Potter.

"Perhaps you should be asking yourself why you so desperately want to know that."

Potter's face seemed to be set in flames. He bit his lower lip, his eyes blazing with the fury of humiliation, yet he said nothing. He did nothing.

Potter kept breathing heavily, not moving forward but not moving away either. It crossed Draco's mind that if he left right then, Potter's humiliation would be absolute. But Draco couldn't seem to move, he couldn't get up and walk through that doorway. The green abyss of Potter's eyes called out to him, keeping Draco paralyzed. In spite of himself, Draco felt his breath exhilarate and his palms grow sweaty. The already all too familiar tension built up between them, just waiting for one of them to break the silence.

Draco grew so accustomed to waiting that he no longer expected Potter to move. And so, when he did, Draco was caught completely off guard.

Potter reached out and grabbed the collar of Draco's shirt, heaving himself over the arm of the chair to lay his lips upon Draco's. Draco was ashamed to admit that the thought of resisting only crossed his mind briefly; he was too caught up in the taste of Potter to care much about anything else.

Draco welcomed him, closing his eyes and opening his mouth to let Potter's tongue enter. Potter eagerly licked the inside of Draco's mouth, teasing him with his velvety tongue and the taste of pumpkin juice and coffee. Draco nibbled at his lower lip, letting his hand come up to grab Potter by the hair of his neck, tugging him closer. The position was highly awkward, so Potter manoeuvred himself to slump down on top of Draco. He straddled him, trapping Draco completely against the fabric of the chair. And Draco did not even have the presence of mind to be bothered by it.

A sweaty hand found its way under Draco's shirt, making its way to the small of his back. Draco was reaching out to unbutton Potter's shirt, moaning against his mouth, the sound mingling with the crackling of the fire in the fireplace.

Draco's eyes shot open at the sound, suddenly reminding him of where he was and what he was doing. _This was not how this was supposed to go_, Draco thought. He was supposed to drag Potter into some dirty broom closet, assault him, then make another elegant exit and leave him begging for more.

He was not supposed to be trapped beneath Potter in a fucking armchair. And Draco was certainly not supposed to enjoy it as much as he was.

"Potter, stop."

Draco pulled away, making Potter moan in protest, his palm still flat against Draco's bare skin. Potter frowned at him, though there was a humorous glint in his eyes. "What?" Potter asked, smirking.

"What do you think you are doing?" Draco asked him, not indulging Potter's frivolousness by returning his smile.

"What am _I _doing?" Potter scoffed, raising a comical eyebrow. "I dare say you were doing something too."

"Well, we shouldn't be doing _anything_ here," Draco muttered, fidgeting uncomfortably under the weight of the other boy. "Someone could walk in any minute and—"

Potter scowled at Draco, his giddiness suddenly gone. "So that's how it is?" He pulled away his hands and leaned back to regard Draco with a stern gaze. "You can assault me anytime, but if I do it it's not OK?"

He looked seriously hurt and so naïve that Draco had to stifle the urge to snort out loud. _So he thinks I am a hypocrite? What else is new?_

"Don't be an idiot." Draco cleared his throat. "Even you should realise that this is not the smartest thing to do."

Potter stared at Draco, incredulous and confused. "What is not?" The playful grin re-appeared on his face. "Are you saying that you don't want me, or that you don't want me _here_?" Potter asked, looking around the common room before turning back to gaze down at Draco, demanding an answer.

The question was quite simple, yet Draco had no way of answering it. Draco wanted him, of course he did. It had been a while since Draco had stopped trying to tell himself anything else. Up until an hour ago it was all just a game, a thrill, a thought he entertained himself with.

In theory it was all so easy. But now, with Potter here, his warmth radiating toward Draco so forcefully that he felt short of breath, Draco realised that the game might not work as well in practise. Potter's presence, his closeness confused Draco's train of thought, silencing all his objections. Draco came to realise that by trying to hook Potter to him, Draco might have been hooking himself to Potter as well.

So, what would he do? He could tell Potter that he disgusted him, send him on his way and abandon this little play he had enjoyed during the last few weeks? Or Draco could indulge Potter and himself, and risk losing himself in the process.

In the end, the decision was easier to make than expected. When Draco ignored all the other details, only one thing was left. Only one thing mattered.

Sex. The mind boggling, sweaty sex that Draco tasted in Potter's mouth, smelled in his scent, heard when he breathed against Draco's lips. Sex spiced with the fury Potter had taunted Draco with for the last eight years, hot and raw and relentless. The sex that could be nothing less than what Draco imagined.

And all else be damned.

So Draco grabbed Potter's shirt, pulling him towards him, so close that their foreheads were pressed together. "Not here," Draco murmured huskily. Potter's expression lit up, his eyes set on fire with apprehension and lust. Potter drew back, scrambling to his feet and pulling Draco with him. Draco barely had time to reach for his cane before Potter was dragging him towards the portrait hole.

"Where—" Draco began to ask, slightly affronted that Potter thought he could take control just like that.

"Room of Requirement," Potter cut him off, casting Draco a sideways glance and grinning widely.

How they manage to get there without getting caught, Draco had no idea. As they hurried through the corridors, Draco found that for once it wasn't only his cane that was the hold-up. As if drunk the boys staggered down the stairs, filling the halls with chuckles, curses and furious kisses. It was all so stupid and silly and reckless, something that lovers do in a flash of romance, so out of place between someone like Draco and someone like Potter. But all such thoughts were forgotten as they burst into the Room of Requirement, once a storage room for various odd objects, now a dimly lit room adorned with a massive four poster bed. Two armchairs were placed in front of a lit fireplace, the soft glow of embers warming the room.

Somehow they managed to stumble over to the bed, Potter's shaking hands already undoing Draco's shirt while Draco kept to kissing Potter furiously. Draco's arm was wrapped around Potter's neck, his nails digging raw pink marks down from his hairline. Potter shuddered under his touch, his breathing intensifying as he gave up trying to unbutton Draco's shirt in favour of simply ripping it open. The buttons scattered all over the floor. It crossed Draco's mind that he should reprimand Potter for it, but in the heat of the moment Draco could do nothing more than loosen his grip on Potter and wriggle out of the shirt.

Potter raised an appreciative eyebrow at the sight of Draco's bare chest. Draco sneered at him, getting back at Potter by pushing him quite violently backwards onto the bed. Potter chuckled and crawled further up onto the bed, and Draco followed, tossing his cane down onto the floor. His bad knee protested as he crawled over to lean closer to Potter, and in the blink of a second it struck Draco how unattractive he must seem. Draco was already about to back away when Potter seemed to sense his hesitation. Potter leaned forward, claiming Draco's lips and wrapping an insistent arm around his neck.

"Scared, Malfoy?" he drawled against Draco's lips, his voice almost giddy as the familiar words awakened memories of old.

Draco couldn't help but snigger. "You wish," he hissed, punctuating the words by delivering a particularly sharp bite to Potter's jaw.

Potter groaned into his mouth, his fingers twining into Draco's hair. Draco felt his breath growing ragged, his arousal straining against the fabric of his trousers. Draco leaned over Potter, pushing him down on his back. When Draco tried to pull away even a bit Potter refused, holding on to Draco and demanding his mouth even more persistently. Potter tasted of excitement, arousal, and the always underlying disdain.

_Amazing_.

Draco moved to unbuckle Potter's belt, and he pulled away enough to pull the Gryffindor-red sweater over his head. By the time Potter had squirmed out of his T-shirt, Draco had undone his trousers completely. Potter seemed to sense the danger of once again being laid bare under Draco's scrutiny, so he quickly moved to work on Draco's trousers. Draco wriggled out of them swiftly, proceeding to pull Potter's trousers down his hips. Draco tossed them to the floor, nearly losing his balance in the process. He barely had time to regain it before Potter grabbed him again, pulling Draco towards him not quite so gently. Draco clamped down on the gasp that threatened to escape him as his erection brushed against Potter's.

Leaning closer towards Potter, Draco let his hand come up to run over his smooth chest, nails clawing at the sensitive skin, fingers plucking at the hard tissue of his nipples. Potter moaned loudly.

"You've done this before," Potter murmured against his mouth, and Draco pulled away just enough to see the embarrassed blush spread on his face.

"Yes," he stated dryly, truthfully. Draco did not like this turn of events. Potter knew that Draco had slept with Blaise, and still he asked him about it. But Draco saw that Potter wanted him to tell him, Potter wanted to know if this was more than a simple fuck.

Draco frowned. _Damn those dratted Gryffindors and their sentimentality._Potter opened his mouth, as if to say something more, to ask something else. Draco prevented him by pulling Potter forcefully to him, ravaging his lips as he leaned over him. They gasped simultaneously as skin met skin, and Draco felt strong arms coming up to wrap around his back. Their bodies moulded together, limbs entwining and breaths mingling. The mixture of it all made Draco feel so breathless that he was forced to pull away, to take some distance.

Draco moved off Potter, and before he had time to react Draco had rolled him over onto his stomach, efficiently pinning Potter's arms above his head. He began to protest but Draco silenced him with a harsh bite to his neck, followed by a lick to soothe the skin. Letting go of Potter's hands to reach over to the floor for his wand, Draco performed a quick lubrication charm. His fingers coated in the transparent substance, Draco reached down to separate Potter's arse cheeks, one finger probing gently at his entrance.

Potter groaned into the bed beneath him, his hips wriggling against the sheets. Draco grinned against Potter's skin as he continued to tease his entrance, at the same time ravaging his neck. Potter's neck was flushing a bright pink and he was rutting into the mattress by the time Draco was through.

Draco leaned forward over him, his erection brushing briefly over Potter's arse, and he shuddered violently. Potter turned his head to gaze at Draco over his shoulder, and Draco took the opportunity to deliver a bite to his earlobe.

"I- Gnh!" Potter groaned, the moan drowning out whatever it was that he was going to say. Draco grinned wickedly and licked Potter's cheekbone.

"What was that now?" Draco asked, playfully gnawing at Potter's shoulder again. "What is it that you want?" he punctuated the question by swiftly inserting a finger to the knuckle into Potter's arse.

Potter let out a muffled cry, but he lifted his face from the nook of his arm to direct an angry glare Draco's way. "Don't be a prick, Malfoy," he snarled, his eyes dark with frustrated arousal. The glare went straight to Draco's cock.

"Tsk tsk. Manners, Potter," Draco sneered, causing another strained wail escape Potter as he inserted another finger, stretching the skin. "What do you want?" Draco repeated the question as a whisper against Potter's skin.

Potter groaned, finally giving in. "Just shut up and fuck me, alright?" he roared into the mattress, wriggling his hips suggestively.

Draco reached forward, grabbing Potter's chin and tilting his head so that Draco could place a harsh kiss on his lips. "Well, since you asked so nicely," he drawled, grinning, victorious.

Draco withdrew his fingers from Potter's arse and coated his own cock with what remained of the lubricant, a hiss escaping him as he touched the sensitive skin. Not letting his hand linger on himself for too long, Draco reached for Potter.

"On your knees," he ordered, grabbing Potter by his hips and tugging him upwards. Potter moved quite obediently, positioning himself on his knees before Draco. The sight was almost too appealing.

Draco rose to kneel behind him, aligning his cock to Potter's entrance. "Ready?"

Without waiting for an answer, Draco grabbed Potter's hips and thrust forward, sheathing himself completely with one quick movement. Potter trembled and cried out beneath Draco, not wholly in pain.

Draco stayed still for a while, having enough mercy to let Potter adjust to the intrusion, even as his own body screamed for him to move. After what seemed like ages Potter's ragged breath seemed to have evened out somewhat, and he turned to gaze at Draco over his shoulder.

"Are you going to move sometime tonight?" Potter drawled, raising an eyebrow. Draco leered at him, swiftly pulling out almost entirely and pushing back in, punishing Potter for his impudence. Potter let out another loud groan that sent shivers down Draco's spine.

Draco kept moving after that, doubting that he could have stopped even if he'd wanted to. Potter continued to groan beneath him, his muscles straining against the effort. Eventually Potter's arms gave in and he fell flat onto the bed. Draco fell with him, continuing to pound Potter thoroughly into the mattress.

It was exactly as Draco had imagined it. Dirty, rough, and absolutely amazing. Potter was strong and demanding, unyielding even in submission. As Draco pounded into him ever harder, ever faster, Potter yelled out curses and hexes that became music in Draco's ears. Soon Potter came, a prolonged "Fuck!" escaping him as he emptied himself onto the sheets. Draco's breath got caught in his throat, and he too came, biting harshly down on Potter's neck as he filled him with his seed.

Draco lay there on Potter, still inside him, letting the beating of his own heart calm down, feeling Potter's chest rise and fall heavily. Eventually Draco pulled out and rolled off onto his back. Draco reached for his wand, cleaning both of them swiftly before relaxing against the sheets. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, hearing Potter's laboured breathing echo his. And in that moment, everything was perfect.

Potter shifted beside him, and Draco heard the rustling of sheets as Potter pulled the duvet over their cooling bodies. It was just a small gesture, simple and insignificant, yet so intimate that it awakened an uncomfortable feeling in Draco's stomach. He fell a tinge of panic growing inside him, suffocating him.

Suddenly Draco felt claustrophobic.

Potter had barely settled down against the mattress again before Draco had thrown the blanket off and reached for his clothes.

"I have to go," Draco muttered, standing up on unsteady legs, pulling on his trousers as swiftly as possible. He heard Potter move beside him, taking in a deep breath as if to protest, then hesitating. Draco couldn't resist the urge to look over at him, and saw Potter sitting very still, staring at him.

Staring at his left arm.

"Okay," Potter agreed dully, swallowing loudly, not able to take his eyes off the Mark. Draco felt the ugly feeling of unexplainable shame seething in the pit of his stomach, and he turned away quickly.

As fast as humanly possible Draco redressed and limped around the bed to retrieve his cane. He couldn't even bring himself to look at Potter where he sat amongst rumpled sheets, still observing Draco in silence. The room that mere minutes ago had been filled with childlike carefreeness was now cold and hostile, and it was all Draco could do not to shiver.

He was just about to exit through the door when Potter's voice called out to him.

"Did you forget something?" he asked his voice quiet, gentle and withdrawn. Draco turned around to see him stretching out his hand, fingers curled around Draco's wand. Draco swallowed and cursed himself for his carelessness, slowly moving towards the bed again. He reached out and grabbed the wand, deliberately avoiding touching Potter's fingers.

"Thanks."

Draco turned away, sliding the wand into his pocket and bolted for the door. He didn't look back.


	6. Possibly Maybe

**Chapter 6.** **Possibly Maybe**

"Harry! What the hell were you doing last night?" Hermione hissed, narrowing her eyes at Harry as he sat down opposite her for breakfast. He was almost too stunned by hearing her swear to come up with a good lie.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked nonchalantly, looking around the room. "Where's Ron?"

"Debating with McGonagall over why the eighth years can't partake in Quidditch," Hermione answered, apparently not in the mood to let herself be diverted from the subject at hand. "And what do you mean 'what do I mean'?" she exploded, gaining weird glances from the other students for her raised voice. Hermione blushed, biting her lip as she leaned slightly forward over the table.

"I found your Cloak in the common room," Hermione whispered, giving Harry a pointed glance. "You're lucky I was the first one to go down there, or else it could have ended up God knows where!"

"Shit," was all Harry managed to utter, cursing himself for his own thoughtlessness. He had used the Invisibility Cloak to sneak up on Malfoy, but he hadn't even thought about it when—

"So," Hermione demanded, interrupting his thoughts. "Where were you?"

"Nowhere." Harry shrugged, picking up his plate and serving himself a big portion of eggs. "Just out."

"Right," Hermione answered sceptically, still staring at Harry. Just when he foolishly believed that she had let the matter go, Hermione spoke again.

"You're up to something, aren't you?"

Harry sighed, chewing his mouthful of eggs slowly to buy himself some time. "I'm not up to anything," he stated, trying to look very bored by the subject. "What would I be up to now, when there are no more crazy dark wizards, trying to kill me?" He grinned, sincerely hoping that his reasoning would work on Hermione.

"Hmm," Hermione mused, clearly sceptical, narrowing her eyes at Harry. She stared at him with a furrowed brow for a second, then sighed and turned back to observing the schedule she had been working on when Harry first entered the Great Hall. "I guess you have a point," she admitted, but Harry still had the uncomfortable feeling that the subject was not yet concluded. Hermione definitely knew that there was something going on, and the fact that she just gave up on the argument so easily proved it.

_Oh man,_ Harry thought to himself. _Little does she know that I'd battle a dark madman any day, rather than face the fact that I am going around moping after Malfoy._

Yes, Harry admitted it. He was moping after Malfoy. He _liked_ Malfoy. Malfoy, the evil, annoying little bitch that everyone hated. Including Harry. Or at least he had used to.

Harry couldn't help the mirthless chuckle that escaped him at the thought, and Hermione looked up at him, confused. "What?"

"Nothing," Harry responded quickly, turning back to his eggs.

Hell, his life was insane.

* * *

_What the hell have I done?_

Lying in his bed, the drapes drawn to hide his self-loathing face, Draco heard the chatter and noise of the other boys getting ready for the day. But he couldn't get up, not yet. Not now. If he did, he would have to see Potter. And if he saw Potter, last night would become real.

And if last night was real, then Draco had failed. Utterly and miserably.

It was supposed to have been a game. Something Draco had done to pass the time he was forced to spend in this place. Something new and exciting.

But he had screwed up. He had failed. Last night, for a second, lying there beside Potter, Draco hadn't wanted to play the game anymore. For a brief moment, he had wanted to stay.

So where would he go from here?

"Draco? Drake!" Blaise's voice sounded behind the drapes. "What are you doing?" he enquired, pulling the drapes aside to peer in at Draco, his smile disgustingly cheerful for so early an hour.

_Whatever hour it is_, Draco thought sourly.

"Oh, fuck off," Draco groaned, childishly grabbing a pillow and pulling it over his head, trying to suffocate himself just to escape from reality. "Can't you see I'm sleeping?"

"Well, sorry to wake you, your Highness." Blaise pulled the drapes aside completely and let the sun shine in and blind Draco. Out of sheer spite, Draco was certain. "But I gathered you wouldn't want to miss the game."

"What- oh." Draco had already begun his question when he remembered. Slytherin versus Gryffindor. Big match. Something Draco was supposed to be very passionate about. He was.

He had been.

"Yeah, of course," he amended quickly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, a shiver running through him as his bare feet touched the floor. "How much time before it starts?"

Blaise shrugged. "Around fifteen minutes when I woke you. Now we are probably down to twelve."

"What?" Draco shrieked, grabbing his towel and cane and rushing out into the bathroom. "Hell, Blaise, why didn't you wake me earlier?"

The only response he got was the roaring laughter that sounded through the dormitory.

**

* * *

**  
"Someone is awfully grumpy this morning," Pansy noted in a sing-song voice, pursing her lips as she took in Draco's appearance.

"I look like shit," Draco hissed as they took their seats in the Quidditch stands, just in time to see the game begin.

Blaise eyed Draco up and down and huffed. "Don't be an idiot, Drake. You look just as fine as always." He cocked an eyebrow. He looked at Draco's shirt again, sneering slightly. "Although your tie is sincerely fucked up."

Before Draco had time to react Blaise had reached for his tie, opening the knot and starting to tie it all over again. Annoyed, but knowing that his complaints would only make Blaise want to irritate him more, Draco tried to ignore him. Draco looked out over the pitch, trying to concentrate on the game when something else caught his eye.

Potter was sitting in the Gryffindor stand, staring intently at Draco. Or rather, staring intently at Blaise, who was just about to finish tying Draco's tie.

"There!" Blaise exclaimed, pulling away to admire his masterpiece. "Now you're perfect!"

Draco looked away from Potter quickly, turning to Blaise with a sneer.

"Don't kiss arse, Blaise. It doesn't become you," Draco retorted, giving Blaise a pointed glance in spite of the humour in his voice.

Blaise grinned. "Me? Never!" he exclaimed, causing Pansy to start coughing heavily. Draco patted her on the back while he weakly returned Blaise's smile.

Draco tried to focus on the game, but every time he looked out over the pitch, he somehow ended up looking towards the Gryffindor stand. His eyes locked on Potter, sitting there, staring at him. And every time Draco held Potter's gaze for a moment longer.

Eventually he couldn't take it anymore.

"Where are you going?" Blaise asked as Draco abruptly rose from his seat.

Pansy looked just as shocked. "We're winning!"

Draco gave them both an apologetic look. "My leg aches. I'm gonna go see Madame Pomfrey." Lying through his teeth, Draco quickly turned his back on Blaise and Pansy before either of them had time to object. Draco limped down the stairs as fast as he could manage, hoping that Potter hadn't seen him leave, hoping that Potter wouldn't get the stupid idea to follow him.

Hoping that he would.

The halls of Hogwarts were eerily quiet. With all the students and teachers out by the Quidditch pitch, Draco almost believed that he could hear the castle breathing in the silence. He hurried through the empty halls and stairways, only breathing out when he finally reached the eighth year boys' dormitory. Feeling incredibly helpless and astoundingly silly for letting Potter get under his skin like this, Draco slumped down on his bed and buried his face in his palms.

"Fuck!" he groaned out loud, rubbing one eye with his knuckle.

"Bad day, huh?"

Draco almost jumped from his seat at the sound of Potter's husky voice, sounding from somewhere beside him. Draco looked up to find Potter standing by Blaise's bed, leaning at the bedpost and looking down at him.

Draco sneered. "Do you _have _to sneak up on me constantly?"

Potter didn't even react. "So why aren't you at the game?" he asked, a tinge of humour in his voice.

Draco scoffed, looking away from the Gryffindor. "I _was_ at the game. And you know very well why I left, —"

"No," Potter responded, smiling, his lie so obvious that he didn't even bother to try and hide it. "I want you to tell me."

Draco could not believe what he was hearing.

"What? No!" he exploded, giving Potter the most vicious sneer he had to offer. "Why are you even here, Potter? What do you want from me?" Draco demanded desperately. He felt cornered, exposed, and he despised the boy in front of him endlessly for making him feel that way.

Potter smiled, a small, shy smile as he leaned back against the bedpost with his hands in his pockets. "You. I want you."

For a moment Draco was certain that he had misheard him. Then he felt simply astounded. How the hell did one manage to make such a ridiculous confession without a hint of embarrassment? Had the poor sod no shame?

"What?"

"You heard me," Potter answered simply, staring calmly back at Draco.

Draco couldn't help the hysterical chuckle that escaped him. "You're out of your bleeding tree!" he exclaimed, rising from his seat to move past Potter and escape from the room and the situation as fast as possible. But Potter stretched out his arm, capturing Draco between his bed and Blaise's. For a second Draco contemplated the possibility of simply rolling over his own bed and escaping that way, but that would just have taken the situation to a whole new level of ridiculousness.

He settled for simply pointing out Potter's lunacy.

"Have you finally lost your marbles, Potter?" Draco asked, sneering. When Potter showed no reaction whatsoever, Draco felt his temper beginning to boil over.

"Look at me!" he exploded, gesturing towards his left leg. The frustration and desperation Draco heard in his own voice sent a shock of embarrassment through him, but Draco could no longer control the words flowing from his lips. "I'm a crippled ex-Death Eater. A Malfoy. Believe me, Potter, you want nothing to do with me," Draco stated clearly, the last word escaping him a ghostly whisper. "_Nothing_."

A moment of tense silence followed. Potter stared at Draco, his expression a strange mixture of disturbing sympathy and uncontrollable fury.

"Bullshit," he finally spat, taking a threatening step towards Draco. Draco almost expected Potter to hit him, he almost wanted him to. It would have made it all so much easier.

But Potter had something else on his mind.

"Don't you try making this about your fucking leg," he gritted through his teeth, his fists clenched in anger. "Don't you _dare_ hide behind that stupid cane. I'm sick and tired of watching you do that!" Potter glared at Draco, his eyes blazing flames of green. "This is about us. And it has _nothing _to do with your injury!"

His words were a violent kick to Draco's ego, a chink in his armour. And Potter knew it very well. In spite of his wounded confidence, Draco managed to leer back. "Don't kid yourself, Potter," he drawled, arching a superior eyebrow. "There is no 'us'. Can't you get that through your thick head?"

A shudder went through Potter at the words, and Draco almost felt on top of the situation again. Potter's expression turned into a grimace of humiliation and hurt, but he remained steadily where he stood. Draco took a deep breath, challenging Potter with a glare.

"Out of my way," Draco tried one last time, glaring at the obstinate git in his way. "_Now, _Potter!"

Potter stared at him for a moment, the humorous twist of his lips suddenly gone. He took a deep breath, and for a second Draco almost dared to hope that Potter would obey him.

"No."

In one quick movement Potter managed to wrap an arm around Draco's waist and clamp their mouths together. Draco lost his footing as Potter pulled him close, and Draco found himself forced to cling to him for balance. His cane fell useless to the floor.

Potter was rough and unyielding, but there was a trace of gentleness in his touch that had never been there before. Unwillingly, Draco trembled at the thought. Potter's hold on him was insistent, strong enough to prevent Draco from pulling away.

As if he had really wanted to.

Draco was lost the moment Potter's lips pressed against his, completely and utterly lost in the taste and feel of having Potter pressed up against him again. Soon Draco was gasping into his mouth, moaning as Potter moved against him. A leg pushed in to separate Draco's as Potter pushed him up against the bedpost. The thrill was so intense that Draco could barely breathe, let alone think about what was happening.

"I can't believe it! Fucking Slytherins…!"

Finnigan's voice sounded suddenly from the stairway, and Draco pulled away from Potter with a gasp. Potter stared at him in shock for the fraction of a second before his face split into a wide smile. Draco sneered at the git, trying to push him as far away as possible from his bed.

"Potter, you idiot!" Draco hissed in frustration when Potter just kept grinning. "Move!"

Potter finally obeyed, moving quickly over to his own bed just as Finnigan and Thomas appeared by the door.

"Oh hi, Harry," Thomas greeted Potter, paying no attention to Draco. He thanked Merlin for small turned away, hiding his face in his Potions book so that his flushed appearance might go unnoticed.

"How was the game, guys?" Draco heard Potter ask.

"Rotten," Finnigan muttered, huffing with disappointment. "The Slytherins won. Can you believe that?"

"It was a massacre," Thomas agreed lightly. Obviously he was much less passionate about the subject than Finnigan. "I can't believe the Gryffindors were so bad. It's like they all stopped playing during the war and now can't even remember what's front and back on a broom!"

"Oh, don't cry, Thomas! Perhaps you'll do better against the Hufflepuffs!" Blaise's drawl sounded through the room, followed by an appreciative grunt Draco could only associate with Goyle.

Blaise reached Draco's bed, slumping down on it as loudly as possible. "Hey, where did you disappear to?"

Draco closed the book and turned to Blaise, who was watching him with a furrowed brow. Blaise looked concerned. "I went by the infirmary, but Madame Pomfrey said you'd never been there."

Draco suppressed the urge to frown, knowing the only way out was to brush the whole thing off. "Yeah, my leg stopped aching by the time I got inside, so I didn't even bother going to the infirmary." Draco shrugged, directing an ugly glare at his bad leg. "You know how it is, the pain comes and goes. There isn't much to do about it."

Blaise still looked concerned and somewhat sceptic, but in the end he nodded, tapping Draco comfortingly on the shoulder. "Yeah, I know. Just sorry you missed the game, Drake."

"Yeah, me too," Draco muttered, probably not too convincingly. Blaise frowned, crawling off the bed to stand beside him.

"So, dinner?" Blaise asked, and Draco nodded, even though the last thing on his mind right now was food.

"Come on, Goyle," Blaise commanded their friend, who had already settled himself comfortably on his bed with a box of chocolate. "Save those for later."

Blaise paved way through the mass off Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaw boys that had gathered in the dorm. It was only briefly that Draco managed to meet Potter's gaze, but it was all he needed. Potter looked as if he was fighting hard to hold back a huge grin, the side of his smile twitching furiously. Potter's eyes were smiling, a bright, emerald green of the forest, alive like Draco had never seen them before. Draco felt a comfortable warmth rising in his stomach at the thought, mingling with the feeling of uncontrollable dread.

What was he getting himself in to?


	7. Life Less Frightening

**Chapter 7. Life Less Frightening**

"What classes do we have today?" Harry asked Hermione during Breakfast in the Great Hall. As if he really didn't know.

"Potions, DADA and Charms," Hermione answered automatically, frowning at Harry. "Harry, shouldn't you have memorized your schedule by now?"

"Potions, you say?" Harry asked, ignoring Hermione's gibe and pretending to look as if he were in deep thought. "I think I left my Potions book in the dorm." He rose from his seat and looked down at Ron and Hermione. "I have to go get it, I'll meet you guys in class."

"Sure thing, mate," Ron shrugged, turning back to his breakfast.

Hermione looked as if she would have liked to protest, but Harry hurried to wave his friends goodbye and stalked out of the Great Hall. Scurrying down the hall towards the dungeons, he soon saw a familiar blond boy, leaning against the door to a storage room.

"Well, good morning, Potter. Nice to see you out so early," he said as Harry approached, mouth twisted in a wicked sneer. Harry was just about to answer with something equally clever when Malfoy grabbed him brutally by the front of his robes and dragged him into the storage room.

"Nice to see you too, Malfoy," Harry hissed, pressing his lips to Malfoy's. Malfoy chuckled against Harry's mouth.

It was quick, hot and desperate. Just the kind of sex you have when you have fifteen minutes before class starts. The kind of sex where you don't have time to think about what you're doing, where you don't _want_ to think about what you're doing because in that brief, stolen moment, nothing else really matters.

When it was over and Harry found himself gasping against the wall, Malfoy's heavy breath on his neck, Malfoy's heart beating frantically against his chest, Harry finally had time to observe his surroundings.

Harry couldn't fight the snort that escaped him. "A broom closet? Really, Malfoy?"

Malfoy pulled away with a grin, a chuckle caught in his throat as if he was laughing at some kind of private joke. They dressed quickly, stepping out of the closet just in time to realise that class was starting in two minutes. Harry was just about to start running when he looked back and realised Malfoy's tiny problem.

Malfoy huffed at Harry's hesitation, obviously embarrassed as he limped forward as fast as he could.

"Just go, Potter," he said. "It's not like we can walk in to the class room at the same time anyway."

"But—" Harry began to protest when Malfoy shot him a stern look. He swallowed his protest and nodded, offering Malfoy a small smile.

"See you in class, Malfoy," Harry teased, the taunt he tried to put into that name sounding less and less genuine each day that passed. And he was certain that Malfoy had noticed that too.

Harry hurried to Potions class, bursting through the door just in time to see Professor Pennyroyal enter from the storage room and start the lecture. She gave him an evil glare, but said nothing. And frankly, Harry was more terrified of Hermione's suspicious stare than of a possible detention.

"Where were you?" Hermione whispered as Harry sat down in his usual seat.

"I was just fetching my book," he murmured innocently, digging through his bag for the Potions book he had put there safely last night.

"That doesn't take twenty minutes!" she hissed, staring at Harry so intently he feared that she was actually reading his mind.

"Let it go, Hermione," Ron sighed, obviously bored by the conversation. Harry felt a compulsive urge to hug him.

Hermione continued to look irritated, but at Ron's request, she pretended to let it go. Turning her attention towards Professor Pennyroyal, Hermione proceeded to punish Harry by ignoring him completely. Not that he minded terribly.

Ten minutes into the lecture Malfoy stepped through the door. Ignoring the questioning glances from his fellow Slytherins as well as the disdainful glare from the professor, Malfoy limped silently towards his seat beside Zabini. Harry saw Zabini lean closer to him and ask him something, but Malfoy's reply was short and haughty. Harry couldn't help but feel a little pleased at seeing Zabini's hurt expression.

"What are you smirking at?" Ron asked, waking Harry from his reverie.

Harry looked down at his book, trying to pretend that he was concentrating on the essay that Professor Pennyroyal assigned them to write. "Nothing," he murmured, even as his eyes stubbornly found their way towards Malfoy again. This time he was looking back, eyes fixed intently on Harry, mouth drawn in a twisted smile.

Harry grinned back. "Nothing at all."

* * *

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. Potter continued to seek Draco out, and Draco was ashamed to admit that he continued to let him. Time and time again Draco felt himself answering Potter's call, indulging Potter and himself in their childish, dangerous game. In the dorm, between classes, in the Room of Requirement… The possibility of getting caught continued to provide half the fun, even as Draco painfully dreaded the consequences of his actions.

Every time he left and returned to his peers, Draco deeply regretted his fading self-control. There was no way that he could possibly deny the fact that he was risking everything to be with Potter. But Draco continued to disregard the warning signals in his head, and he pointedly continued to ignore Blaise's questioning glances.

"Where were you?" Blaise asked once again as Draco crawled into bed long after midnight one Friday night in November. He lied on his side, watching Draco as he swiftly changed into his pyjamas and pulled the duvet over his head.

"Nowhere," Draco answered, just like he did every time Blaise asked. And Blaise didn't pry further, he never did. But every night that Draco returned to the dormitory after hours, Blaise was there, awake, waiting, asking that same question. And every night his lips twitched in restrained frustration at Draco's curt answer.

But Blaise never enquired further. And he never objected when Draco denied his access to his bed.

Potter on the other hand was nothing like Blaise. He was pushy and demanding, and he had no respect for Draco's decisions concerning the subject of their twisted affair.

Most importantly, Potter didn't seem to realise that what they had in that moment was only temporary. In his beautiful innocence Potter believed in undying love conquering all obstacles, he gave no thought to the fact that this might end, the fact that this _would_ end eventually.

Whether he liked it or not, Draco was a Malfoy. And as a Malfoy he had certain responsibilities. Duties involving wives and offspring, duties involving the clearing of his tainted family name.

Duties that in no way incorporated Harry Potter.

But how was Draco supposed to tell him that? He had tried to push Potter away, Draco had told him that he despised him, tried to convince him that he should have nothing to do with someone like Draco. But Potter's obstinacy was like no others. He just kept smiling knowingly, kissing Draco insistently until his protests died out.

Because in the end, they always died out.

* * *

"Spring is in the air," Potter told Draco one late winter evening as they walked forth in the snow just outside the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Did you bring me all the way out here to tell me that?" Draco drawled, and then swore as he almost lost his footing on the icy ground. "I could have enjoyed that observation just as much indoors."

Potter merely huffed at him, grinning. "I just thought that you could use some fresh air," he said innocently, and second later Draco saw a snowball flying his way. His reaction was too slow, and the ball hit him right in the chest. Draco groaned, but the sound was drowned out by Potter's roaring.

"Fuck," Draco moaned between clenched teeth, glaring at the laughing idiot called Potter. "Isn't there some policy that says you can't attack disabled people?"

Potter snorted, already kneeling down to scoop up another handful of snow. "Not if that disabled person is an outright git." He grinned at Draco's affronted sneer and sent off the second snowball. Soon both boys were cursing and roaring with laughter, both trying to overpower the other. Draco knew that later he would curse himself for engaging in something so intimate and amicable in a place where anyone could see them, but right then all he cared about was that moment of freedom and absurd silliness. The cold wind blew through his clothes and burned in his lungs, and he had melting snow running down his back. Draco had never felt more ridiculous or more alive in his entire life.

Of course, Draco's disability put him at a disadvantage in the fight, and in the end he found himself lying on his back in the deep snow, Potter's heavy body straddling him. He was gasping as much for breath as Draco was, and Draco couldn't but admire the healthy, frozen blush on Potter's cheeks. His face lit up as he laughed at Draco's helplessness where he had him pinned to the ground.

Draco thought that Potter had never been more beautiful.

His suddenly serious gaze seemed to call Potter back from his fit of laughter, and he looked down at Draco with a small, affectionate smile. Potter reached forward, a snow-cooled hand brushing Draco's wet hair from his face. Draco's mouth grew suddenly dry, and he found it hard to breathe as a bubble of anticipation built around them. Potter swallowed once, biting his lower lips with a torn expression.

"I love you."

The words had barely crossed Potter's lips before he rouse to his feet and stepped away, disappearing from Draco's range of vision.

_I love you too._

Draco felt words building in his throat, but he clamped down on them stubbornly. He couldn't say them, not to Potter. Not even to himself. Draco remained on the ground, staring up into oblivion, feeling the expectant, uncomfortable silence fill the air. The snow fell softly on Draco's face, and his bare fingers dug into the cold below him.

And in that precise moment Draco heard those dreaded words escape him.

"Move in with me."

An absurd thought, voiced in the impulse of the moment. The words were little more than a husky whisper, drowned in the howling wind before they even reached his own ears.

But Draco knew that Potter had heard him.

Seconds later Potter re-appeared above Draco, just to let himself fall down heavily on top of him. Draco barely had time to take in his expression, the brilliant, beautiful smile that flashes on Potter's face and warmed his heart.

Potter didn't speak. He just laid there on top of Draco, silent, his heart beating frantically through his coat, his face buried deep in the crook of Draco's neck.

Draco immediately regretted it. Had he had a moment more to think about what he was doing, he would not have responded to Potter's declaration. It was a stupid thing to do, to profess his love when they both knew that what they had was headed for a certain end.

Draco stared up at the darkening sky, trying to convince himself that this was all just a sweet and impossible nightmare that he would awaken from any minute. He didn't move, and he didn't speak. He just lay there quietly, listening to Potter breathe as he tried to gather his own thoughts.

Draco knew it might be too late for him to walk away, but he would do his best to go on pretending.

Pretending that this was all still just a game.

* * *

"Ah, finally!" Dean cried out as the Gryffindors returned to the eighth year common room after their last Charms class. "It's over! No more school, ever!"

"I think you're forgetting about the N.E.W.T.s next week," Harry pointed out, grinning. Dean grimaced, poorly executed due to the underlying smirk.

"Who cares? After next week we're free! Forever!" he exclaimed, jumping around and gesticulating so wildly that he bumped Neville into his glass of pumpkin juice.

"Perhaps you _should _care about your N.E.W.T.s," Hermione remarked bitterly from behind her Transfigurations book. "If you don't, you'll spend next year here as well."

"Don't be a spoilsport, Mione," Ron chuckled, slumping down on the couch next to his girlfriend. Harry snickered at Hermione's annoyed expression as he sat down in one of the armchairs.

"So, Harry, what are you going to do after graduation?"

Harry turned his head towards Seamus Finnigan, who took a seat next to him. Shrugging, Harry sighed. "I'll probably just go into Auror training. Maybe get a flat in addition to Grimmauld Place. We'll have to see about that though, I'm not sure about it yet."

It was a complete lie, of course. Harry would most certainly get a flat, but naturally he couldn't flaunt it too openly. He doubted that the idea of him moving in with Draco Malfoy would sit very well with the other Gryffindors.

"Why do you need a flat aside from Number 12?" Ron asked, furrowing his brow. For a moment Harry felt bad for parading his money for Ron by talking about buying a seemingly useless flat in addition to his already gigantic house. But what could he do? -Ron was bound to find out sometime.

"Grimmauld Place does live up to its name a bit too much," Harry commented, shrugging. "The thought of actually living in that place is depressing."

"Yeah, I guess it isn't really the cheeriest of houses," Ron agreed, grimacing slightly. Hermione smiled correspondingly before turning back to her book.

Harry smiled back at his friends, but the expression felt foreign on his face. He felt ashamed for lying to them and hiding such an important part of his life, but he knew he had little choice. Draco was very particular about no one else knowing about them. And as much as Harry would have liked to, he didn't object. For the moment, Harry was just incredibly happy that Draco was taking this step with him.

For now, he didn't need anything else.

* * *

"Poor?" Queenie exploded, staring at her grade transcription. "How did I get a Poor in Transfiguration?"

"Just be happy that you didn't get a Troll", Blaise smirked.

"But these are the N.E.W.T.s!" the blond girl exclaimed, leering at the parchment in her hands as if she expected the grades to morph before her eyes. "One isn't supposed to get a lower grade than an Acceptable!"

Draco observed the scene before him with an amused brow. "Queenie, didn't you cheat to achieve your E for the O.W.L.s?"

A faint flush spread over the girl's face and her mouth twisted into an embarrassed frown. "How did you know about that?"

Draco snorted. "That's completely irrelevant." He fixed a stern gaze on the girl. "You did, didn't you?"

She sighed, an ugly sneer on her face. "Yeah, I used a Memory Charm."

Draco grinned, self-satisfied, letting out a small snicker. "I bet you thought you could use that charm again now, didn't you?"

"Damn spells preventing cheating…" Queenie muttered, her blush spreading further as Blaise and Goyle started roaring with laughter at her expression.

Queenie crossed her arms in frustration, glaring at the boys beside her. "Fuck you, guys."

"Well," Blaise began, completely unmoved by her irritation. "What do you say we drag our asses down to Hogsmeade and celebrate?" When he saw Draco's doubtful look, his smirk grew wider and more insistent. "Come on, what's graduation without a royal hangover?"

_Well, Draco could hardly argue with such reasoning._"Sure," he agreed, causing both Blaise and Goyle to cheer and spring up from their seats.

"I'll go get Pansy and Tracey," Queenie said, hurrying towards the girls' dormitory. "You'll guys go ahead," she said, turning back in the stairs and smiling. "We'll catch up with you in a minute."

Draco stifled the urge to snort. Of course they would catch up, it wasn't like he could run from anyone.

The evening felt like a subtle flashback into a life Draco had already bid farewell to. They drank, they laughed, and they talked about anything and everything that didn't concern the future, as it was just as uncertain for each and every one of them. Like prisoners let out of captivity, they now had to leave the company, the place that was familiar and safe, only to be kicked out in a world that would rather see them all hang in the gallows. They, widely regarded as the spawn of evil, had no place in the remains of the society that everyone else was so desperate to rebuild.

Even as they did speak about it, fear was clearly visible on every Slytherins face. With or without a history in the war, the green of their robes was shunned like leprosy. And all they could do to defend themselves was to wear that colour with all the more pride.

It pained Draco greatly to say goodbye to this unity. But at the same time, he knew he couldn't stay. It would have been so much easier to remain with these people, his friends, his family. But Draco could in no way choose both, he could never have both his friends and Potter. And for some reason, Draco couldn't bring himself to let go of Potter.

The Slytherins were the scum of the Earth. No pardon by the court would amend that. All they could do was save themselves, make their own absolution.

And as much as Draco loathed admitting it, Potter was his absolution.


	8. When it Rains

**Chapter 8. When it Rains**

Two weeks after graduation Potter moved in to Draco's apartment. Their apartment.

He didn't bring a lot of stuff. Potter's belongings consisted of a suitcase of some clothes and a few personal objects. On the other hand, he seemed determined to collect all sorts of trinkets as reminders of relationship. He bought a camera and filled the flat with pictures of the two of them.

Draco didn't like it, but he didn't have the heart to take them down.

Life was peaceful and consistent. Potter spent his days at Auror training, while Draco stayed home and pretended to look for a job, indulging Potter's illusion that somewhere out there was someone who wouldn't mind hiring a reformed Death Eater. On Friday evenings Potter visited the Weasleys, while Draco dined at the Manor. The weekends were their private time.

Draco knew his mother didn't like the idea of him living in a simple three-room flat in a Muggle neighbourhood. Her distaste for the place made Draco's life considerably easier, because he didn't have to worry about her making an unexpected visit. What Potter had told the Weasley and Mudblood to keep them away, Draco didn't really care to know.

Potter wanted to tell them, that much was obvious. After asking Draco about it every day for two months, he had given up. But it didn't take a genius to see that it was still bothering him.

Potter didn't realise how lucky he was. At least he had his friends left.

Draco hadn't talked to Blaise since that night before they left school. There was no doubt that Blaise had tried to contact him, but Draco hadn't received one single owl. And that was just as well. Blaise's jealousy, his persistence to know every detail about Draco's life might wreck everything he had with Potter. Even if Blaise was his dearest friend, Draco refused to risk that.

Sitting in the kitchen and watching drops of the September rain chase each other down the window, Draco couldn't help but wonder what had brought him there.

Draco hadn't asked Potter why he had chosen to live in the Muggle world. It wasn't exactly a mystery. Here Potter could live in peace without Rita Skeeter camping outside his front door every other night in hope of a good story. Potter was happy to be able to visit the Wizarding world any time, while still living what he considered to be a comfortable Muggle life surrounded by electronic gadgets that supposedly made life easier.

Why Draco had wound up here was another matter. He often wondered how he had ended up living in a Muggle flat, separated from almost everything magical? What had made him accept a life surrounded by cell phones, TVs and toasters, just so he could live it with Potter? When did he choose Potter over his friends, over himself?

When did he fall so madly in love with him?

A ringing sounded through the room. The cell phone Potter had given Draco was vibrating against the kitchen counter and blinking, giving out a terrible, melodic noise. It was Potter, calling to tell Draco that he was on his way home. Potter called every day, at exactly the same time, even though he knew Draco would never pick up. Of all things Muggle, Draco hated that small gray antenna thing the most. But Potter kept calling every day, and it pained Draco to admit that the knowledge woke a warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest.

When Potter stepped through the door a half-hour later, he grinned at Draco with a familiar twinkle in his eyes.

"You could pick up one of these days, you know?" he said, smiling as he held up his own phone. It was black and the exact same model as Draco's. Draco was convinced that it was Potter's twisted way of expressing sentimentality.

"I could," he responded coolly, the smile spreading on his face betraying his affection. "But I won't."

Potter shook his head and snickered softly, approaching to give Draco a quick peck on the lips before he moved to the bedroom to change out of his robes. His presence suddenly made everything Draco hated about the place seem insignificant. This daily pattern, the recurring conversation, the familiarity of Potter's every gesture was all that mattered.

It was Potter that made this place feel like home.

* * *

"I told Hermione and Ron," Harry blurted out one evening.

The words completely disrupted what probably would have been a very peaceful evening. Draco looked up from his magazine, staring at Harry from the other end of the couch. Draco looked uncertain as if trying to decide whether Harry was just yanking his chain or if he had true reason to break out in rage.

When Harry made no further comment, Draco seemed to settle for the latter.

"You did what?" His question was voiced with such compelling disbelief that Harry contemplated telling him that he was lying. But in the end Harry chose to follow his initial instinct and stand his ground. It was better to tell an unfortunate truth than to tell a pleasant lie.

"I told them," Harry repeated, letting a soft smile spread on his face, trying to convince Draco that this was the right thing to do. "I thought that it was about time."

Draco clenched his fists so that the magazine crumbled in his hands. "You didn't think to discuss this with me?" His rage was so tangible that Harry could almost feel the vibrations in the air.

"I did discuss it with you!" he exclaimed, feeling the irritation starting to brood within him. "I have asked you like a hundred times!"

Draco sneered at him, but Harry interrupted him before he had time to respond. "We're not at Hogwarts anymore, so what does it matter if people know?"

"Of course it matters!" Draco exploded, flying out of his seat.

Harry felt a sting in his chest, a cold sling of doubt that wrapped around his heart and refused to let go. "Are you ashamed of me? Of us?"

Draco looked like Harry had just slapped him. "What? No, I—" he stuttered, stumbling over the words while a blush spread over his pale cheeks.

That was all the answer Harry needed.

Furious and humiliated, he roused from his seat and scurried past the couch towards the front door. Feeling unshed tears burn behind his eyes, Harry struggled to find his coat in the cupboard.

"…Harry!" Draco's voice sounded from behind him, reserved and angry, but now also remorseful. Unfortunately for him, Harry didn't care about his regret right now. Stalking out through the door and slamming it shut behind him, Harry hurried down the stairway.

He had walked two blocks before he realised how childishly he was behaving. But he couldn't take back what had been said, and he couldn't go back home yet.

Harry hurried down the street, wandering around aimlessly until his legs started to ache. He reached for the cell phone in his pocket, checking for unread messages. Stupid of him of course, Draco wouldn't call him. He refused to touch his phone. The thought of Draco's obstinacy irritated Harry further, and the thought of returning home became impossible. Making a quick decision, Harry produced his wand and Apparated away.

The familiar façade of the Three Broomsticks welcomed him to Hogsmeade. Harry stepped through the door and stalked over to the bar. Before he had time to order anything though, a familiar Irish accent was heard from behind him.

"Harry? Hey, what's up?"

* * *

"He is such a bastard!"

Even as Harry felt slightly embarrassed, the words seemed to come out of their own volition. Harry thought that maybe he shouldn't care; at least it didn't seem like Seamus was bothered by his outbursts.

Then again, Seamus was at least as drunk as Harry.

It felt strange to be sitting there like this, alone with Seamus Finnigan, sharing some of his most private secrets. It had been a while since Harry had really cared about keeping _this_ particular secret, and the alcohol had worked to loosen his tongue enough so that Harry couldn't have prevented himself from talking even if he had wanted to.

"Ya're absolutely right, mate!" the Irishman exclaimed, raising his glass towards Harry. His hand swung, spilling some of the liquid onto the table. "Your guy 's an idiot fo' treatin' ya like that!"

"That's what I thought!" Harry cried out, gaining a few strange looks from other customers. In his intoxicated state Harry could do little more than raise his glass and mock-salute the staring witches and wizards. Downing what was left of his drink, Harry turned to Seamus with a sneer. "I hate this. There is always someone staring at me, wherever I go." He was perfectly aware of how childish he sounded, but currently Harry couldn't seem to care enough to be embarrassed.

"I just wish they would leave me the hell alone!"

Seamus took a look around the bar, before turning to Harry with a grin. He too emptied his glass, before slamming it down on the table. Rising from his seat, Seamus grabbed Harry by his hand.

"Let's go!"

"Wha—?" was Harry's weak protest as he was pulled out of his seat. As they stumbled out though the door, Harry was forced to grab on to Seamus for support. As soon as he did, Harry felt that the touch was perhaps too intimate for comfort. Yet Seamus didn't pull away. It was a relief, and yet slightly discomforting at the same time.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, at the same time as he saw Seamus pull his wand out of his pocket. Seamus didn't answer, but merely grabbed Harry's arm, and the next thing Harry felt was the familiar tug of Apparation.

"This is my flat," Seamus declared casually as they Apparated into a small living room.

Harry nodded appreciatively. "It's nice."

Seamus laughed. "It's not very glamorous, but it's all I can afford with the salary of a Quidditch commentator."

His comment made Harry smile, and he was reminded of why he had always liked Seamus. He took everything with such ease, everything became very simple with him. It was perhaps that thought that clouded Harry's mind and prevented him from resisting immediately when Seamus leaned in to kiss him.

Harry initially wanted to pull away. The body pressed up against him felt all wrong, it felt nothing like Draco.

But the thought of Draco brought up Harry's frustration, his anger, his need for some kind of retaliation. And it crossed Harry's mind that what he was doing was justified, because of all he had seen Draco do with Zabini, and most importantly, all he _knew_ them to have done.

So when Harry heard a harsh breath in his ear, he pretended that he didn't hear it screaming out his sins. When he felt cool hands slither under his clothes, fingers undo his jeans, Harry didn't pull away.

* * *

What had he done?

Harry could hear the heavy breathing of someone sleeping beside him, and without looking he knew that it wasn't Draco. Panic seething in his stomach, Harry rolled off the couch and searched for his clothes in the dark. Finding them, he dressed quickly, his back to the couch. He refused to look at Seamus, refused to look his betrayal in the eye. All Harry could think about was that he had to get out of there.

He made it out of the door before the tears started rolling. He began hyperventilating, and an overwhelming nausea took him over, forcing him to lean back against the wall. It took a moment for Harry to calm down enough to be able to Apparate.

Standing outside his and Draco's flat, Harry couldn't seem to bring himself to reach for the door. All he could think about was getting back to Draco, throwing himself around his neck and never letting go. Draco could wash his sin away, make him clean again. Harry knew it.

But at the same time his mind was clouded by his deed. Could he tell Draco, confess and pray for forgiveness? No. Harry knew Draco well enough to know that he would never forgive him, not for something like this.

But what if he found out? If Seamus wasn't smart enough to keep his mouth shut, if Draco heard a rumour…

Could Harry take that risk?

The fact that the answer was very simple in the end didn't make the decision easy. Wiping the tears from his eyes and taking a deep breath, Harry reached for the door handle. The door creaked open, and Harry found the apartment completely dark and quiet. He stepped inside, hearing his ragged breaths echo in the silence.

"Where have you been?"

Jumping where he stood, Harry turned to see Draco sitting in one of the armchairs, his face barely visible in the darkness. Harry opened his mouth to answer, but nothing escaped him except a strangled sob.

It was apparently not the response Draco expected, for he flew out of his seat and stalked over to Harry.

"Are you alright?" he asked, worry marring his expression. "Harry?" His concern grew when Harry didn't answer, and finally Draco grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to shake him out of his paralysis.

Harry opened his mouth, he tried to tell Draco what he had done, why he had done it, how much he regretted it, but nothing came out. Staring into Draco's steel gray eyes, seeing nothing of his former anger, only concern and fright, Harry's mouth refused to let out a single sound. When Draco then reached out to touch him, Harry broke down. Tears rolling down his cheeks Harry threw his arms around Draco's neck, pressing his mouth to Draco's before he had time to see the shame in Harry's eyes.

Harry couldn't bring himself to tell him. He had never hated anyone as much as he hated himself in that moment.

Draco's arms wrapped around Harry tentatively. His concern for Harry made him unusually gentle, something that in that moment made Harry feel even worse about himself. So he ripped at Draco's clothes, clawed at his back, bit at his skin, anything to make him hold onto Harry tighter, anything to make him claim him.

Anything to make that time nothing unlike any other.

* * *

"Harry?"

Potter stared at him as if he was seeing a ghost. His emerald eyes were wide and tear-drenched, filled with alarm and self-disgust. He opened and closed his mouth, but not a single word passed his lips.

Finally Draco grabbed Potter by his shoulders, determined to shake some sense into him. But at his touch Potter shuddered, throwing himself in Draco's arms before he had time to say a single word. Potter kissed him furiously, desperately, his mouth tasting of whisky, salt, and something Draco couldn't quite put his finger on, cinnamon perhaps?

Draco hesitated to respond to his movements, wanting to know what was wrong with him. But Potter didn't allow him to move away, any attempt on Draco's behalf only made Potter to cling to him more desperately.

His lips moved from Draco's down his jaw, sloppy kisses assaulting Draco's neck and collarbone while quick hands worked on unbuttoning his shirt.

"Harry…" Draco protested weakly, his body responding to the touches but his mind still doubtful.

"I want you," Potter murmured between kisses, his voice raw and clouded by tears. He had succeeded in unbuttoning Draco's shirt and was pulling it off him, his hands and mouth moving greedily over Draco's chest and shoulders.

"Please, Draco," he pleaded, causing Draco to moan and shudder as his nipple was caught between Potter's teeth. "Fuck me."

Draco's legs trembled and he lost his ability to object. Letting out a muffle groan, he pulled Potter closer, devouring his lips as he ripped off his shirt. Potter shuddered beneath his touch, a moan of something like relief escaping his lips.

Potter was forceful and desperate, dragging Draco to the bedroom without any hesitation. He didn't leave room for protest, claiming Draco's mind and body so furiously that he barely found time to breathe. Draco had barely registered anything happening before he found himself pushing slowly in to Potter, feeling the tight, familiar warmth squeeze the breath out of him. Fully sheathed, Draco stopped, trying to calm his heart that seemed set on beating its way out of his chest. But Potter grew inpatient, slamming his hips against Draco's, Potter's muffled cry echoing his own.

Draco couldn't bring himself to stop moving after that. Potter didn't allow him to. He took everything Draco had, giving everything back, cursing, clawing, and crying out for more. There was something in Potter's desperation that was new and alien, something that awoke a feeling of unease in the pit of Draco's stomach. But his desire was equally tangible, and made it impossible for Draco to deny his own.

When Draco came, the room around them seemed to shatter as well. Feelings and thoughts, too complex for words exploded in multiple colours, calling out to Draco like nirvana. Potter came too, bucking desperately beneath Draco as he cried out Draco's name, tears still rolling down his cheeks.

Draco moved to roll off him, and only reluctantly did Potter comply. Draco settled himself against the pillows, immediately finding the left part of his body covered by Potter's. He buried his face in the crook of Draco's neck, his breath still heavy and ragged as he spoke.

"Promise you'll never leave me," Potter whispered, and Draco could hear the true uncertainty in his voice.

His words woke the anxiety within Draco again, demanding him to ask what Potter was talking about. But Draco pushed the thought aside, wrapping his arms tighter around Potter's cooling body.

"I promise," he responded, defying his mistrustful other self. Draco could feel the smile spread on Potter's face, and he kissed his gratitude onto Draco's neck. Draco felt Potter shed a few more tears against his skin, before his breathing fell into the regular calm of sleep. Letting his lips graze Potter's damp hairline, Draco felt a light chuckle escape him at his ignorance.

_Promise you'll never leave me._

Silly boy.

How could Draco ever leave him? How, when he had left everything else for him?


	9. Glass

**Chapter 9. Glass  
**  
Draco woke to the sound of that cursed what-was-its-name antenna thingy ringing again. He kicked Potter in the shin, but he didn't move an inch. He just continued to snore into Draco's neck, and Draco felt the disgusting words "adorable" and "beautiful" cross his mind, preventing him from waking the man next to him. Instead he cursed under his breath, getting up and pulling on his jeans. Grabbing his cane, Draco crossed the room and picked up the noisy little black brick. The name _Seamus_ blinked on the screen. After a moment Draco had studied the Muggle appliance in his hand long enough to realise he should start with the 'Answer'-button.

Draco pressed the green button and lifted the brick to his ear, just as he had seen Potter do countless times, croaking a "Hello?" in his groggy morning voice.

"Harry?" A sharp accent reached Draco's ear, and he realised it was the Irish lad, Finnigan. Draco opened his mouth to tell him that it was indeed _not_ Potter, but apparently the man on the other end of the line was in a hurry, for he started babbling uncontrollably.

"Harry, I'm real sorry if I took it too far last night an' freaked ya out. I just woke up with a horrible hangover an' ya were gone an'— " _What?_ Draco's mind stood still as the Irishman rattled on. "Well, I realise that you've probably gone to fix things with ya lad an' well... Ya probably regret it. But if ya don't regret it then maybe we could—"

_Please stop._

"Could what, Finnigan?" Draco asked, embarrassed to hear panic lacing his voice. The other end of the line grew dreadfully silent, until a mumbled "Oh shite!" was heard. Then all Draco could hear was a low repeated beeping sound.

He lay the cell phone down on the table, staring at the wall. What was Finnigan talking about? It couldn't possibly be as bad as Draco was thinking. It just couldn't! Harry wouldn't—

Then he looked over to Potter's sleeping frame where he laid, naked and tangled in bright white sheets. And the events of the previous night passed through Draco's head in a sudden whirlwind of colours; Potter rumpled and teary faced as he clung to Draco upon walking through the door. Potter needing to be held, crying as he begged for Draco to fuck him. Potter tasting like whisky and cinnamon.

_"Promise you'll never leave me."_

Draco had promised.

He made an attempt to cross the room and confront Potter, but Draco only made it two staggered steps before crashing to the floor.

* * *

Harry woke to the sound of a loud thud against wood. Opening his eyes, he saw Draco sitting on his knees in the middle of the room, his hand holding on to his cane with a cramp-like force. Harry yelled out, thinking Draco was having some kind of seizure, and feebly attempted to untangle himself from the bed sheets.

Before Harry made it over to him, Draco lifted his head and stared at him with a clouded gaze.

"Draco? What's wrong?" Harry mumbled, wrapping the sheet around his waist before approaching him. Draco continued to stare at Harry with eyes empty and clouded, his lower lip trembling as he spoke:

"Where were you last night?"

With those words, Harry's world came crashing down. -_He can't know, he can't know!_ became his silent mantra as he stared at Draco in shock. Harry tried to tell him that it was nothing, that whatever he had heard was a lie and that he loved Draco and—

Nothing came out. Draco stared at Harry for a minute as if seeing the desperation raging within him, and suddenly Harry could see the realisation dawn on him. His eyes became clear, and he took a deep breath as he stood up from the floor. Harry saw Draco's jaw tighten, his fists clench by his sides, his eyes grow cold as stone.

"Get out," was all he said, and Harry felt as if he had been shot right in the chest. He took a staggering step to the side and one back, staring at Draco in denial.

"What?"

Draco limped over to the chair, picking up Harry's clothes and tossed them at him. "You heard me. Get out," he said with the cold, indifferent voice he always used with other people. The one Draco used with people he wanted to keep at a distance. Not with Harry. Never with Harry.

"No!" Harry exclaimed, throwing the clothes to the floor and rushing over to him. "Please Draco, I didn't mean to! It was an accident, I just—"

"You what?" Draco asked, voice cold and raw. "An accident? It was an accident that you got it on with Finnigan, an _accident_ that you followed him home and _fucked him_?" The shame washed over Harry at Draco's roar, and he turned his face towards the floor.

"It wasn't like that!" he croaked, looking up at Draco. "We had that horrible fight, and then I got really drunk and Seamus was just there and... I didn't want this to happen!"

But Harry's pledge did nothing to rip the indifferent mask off Draco's face, nothing to make Draco show him any other feeling than that horrible cool hate. "Then that makes two of us," Draco murmured, looking around in the bedroom, stopping to stare at the empty bed. "Go on, Potter, get out. I never want to see you here again." He sneered, spitting out the name 'Potter' with hate and disgust that made Harry's stomach turn.

Harry shook his head, denying what was happening. "No, no! God, Draco!" he rushed over to him, grabbing his shoulders to make Draco look him in the eye. "I'm sorry, Draco! I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!" Harry sobbed, feeling tears starting to roll down his cheeks at a furious pace.

"I'm sorry!"

* * *

"I'm sorry!"

Draco felt a cold laugh escape him. "Sorry? You're _sorry_?"

He pull away from Potter's grip and backed away slowly, feeling a terrible smile spread on his face. "Sorry for what? Sorry for making yourself believe you had feelings for me, just because I was the only one to love you in indifference of all the Chosen One-crap?"

Horror spread over Potter's features and he rushed towards Draco anew. "I _do_ love you! How can you believe anything else?" He leaned against Draco, resting his forehead against his neck and wrapping his hands around his chest.

"I know what I did was horrible, but please, Draco… You must know that I never meant to hurt you!"

"Well, you did," Draco sneered bitterly, trying to push him away. But Potter wouldn't budge, instead he snuck his arms around Draco even more insistently, sobbing desperately into Draco chest while he dug his nails into his back.

"Please," Potter sobbed, and Draco felt warm tears run down his bare chest. "This can't end like this. I can't lose you like this. We can work past this. We can forget…" He looked up at Draco, tears still flooding his eyes. Then suddenly Potter's lips were on his, his hands were in Draco's hair, and he was kissing his for all that he was worth. And for a second Draco gave in, almost allowing his arms to wrap around Potter.

But there in his velvety mouth was that scent of whiskey and cinnamon again. Draco's imagination came alive anew with pictures of the two of them, touching, kissing, breaths mingling, bodies melting together, voices filling the room with moans and Irish accents.

"No." Draco pulled away from Potter's arms, grabbing his cane and shirt from the floor and walking to the door. "I'm going for a walk. I want you gone when I get back."

The last thing he saw before he closed the door was Potter crumbling to the floor.

**

* * *

**

He was really gone.

Draco returned from his walk to find the hall empty, no shoes by the door, no coat in the closet. The bathroom was emptied of all of Potter's stuff, as was the bed room.

Draco looked at the crumpled sheets on the unmade bed, and realised he could never sleep in them again. Ripping them from the bed, Draco carried the cloths into the drawing room and threw them into the fire place. After lighting the fire, he slid down the wall and remained seated there, tired and defeated, watching the dance of the flames rid his life of every shred of happiness he had ever felt.

Watching the red flames of his memories crumble into ash, Draco leaned his head back against the wall. There he remained, motionless in pain. And all he could do was laugh bitterly.

Because crying would have meant that he regretted something.


	10. Epilogue: Give Yourself Away

**Epilogue: Give Yourself Away**

"Draco?"

"Hi, Blaise," he murmured, fidgeting uncomfortably where he stood outside the apartment. Blaise stared at him as if faced with a ghost, and Draco felt a wolfish grin spread over his face.

"May I come in?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at the open doorway which Blaise was efficiently blocking.

His words startled Blaise out of his surprise, and he moved aside with an embarrassed flush on his nose. "Sure, come on in."

Draco strutted through the door into the sparsely furnished flat. Everything was clean-cut and modern, very stylish. Very Blaise.

It felt like home.

"You haven't been answering my letters," Blaise said, closing the door behind Draco. Draco turned around to face him, and saw Blaise's eyes travel to the suitcase in his hand. Blaise took it from him without a comment and led Draco to the bedroom.

"Where have you been?" he asked softly, heaving the suitcase onto the bed and turning back towards Draco.

The question was simple, and in no way unexpected. But the thought of the truthful answer washed away any confidence that Draco had managed to gather, and to his horror he felt his polished façade crumble beneath Blaise's enquiring gaze.

Draco breathed deeply, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Nowhere," he croaked weakly.

Blaise stared at him cautiously for a moment before he took a deep breath, taking a step forward. He stood only inches from Draco, staring into his eyes for a very long time. Trembling slightly, Draco took another deep breath, trying to look convincing as he repeated the word.

"Nowhere."

Blaise smiled crookedly, sadly, as if understanding. A ridiculous idea. But he was here, Draco's rock, Draco's best friend. He was here, waiting for him, supporting him.

And when he leaned in to kiss him, Draco let him.

_He isn't right._

He didn't feel, or taste, or smell anything like Potter. He was too tall, his hair was too smooth, his kisses were not angry or desperate enough. But he was familiar, and he was safe. He knew him.

_He is not Potter._

He wasn't Potter. But he could make him forget. __

With Blaise there with him, Potter's absence was hardly a remarkable thing. Draco could stay here with Blaise, and he could let himself forget. He could let himself go on.

_Liar._

Draco might have admitted to expecting to hear Potter breathing beside him when he lay awake in the night. Draco admitted to constantly listening for his steps in his apartment. _Their_ apartment. What once had been his and Potter's haven had become the prison of Draco's memories.

_You miss him._

He missed him. It was hard to deny. But his betrayal hurt more than being separated from him did. This was Draco's life, and it was up to him to decide what he would do with it. It was in his own hands to decide whom he loved.

Or so he would continue to tell himself.

_You regret it._

There was nothing to regret. He had made his choice. And he would continue to make it every day. The best thing Draco could do, for himself and for Potter, was be true to himself. To remain in his place. Home. Perhaps, if he continued to tell himself that, Draco wouldn't need him anymore. In Blaise's arms, Draco would find, if not an absolution, at least peace.

In these arms, life was almost as it should be.

_finis._


End file.
